


Two If By Sea

by obsolete_theory (ersatzbeta)



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: AU, M/M, Mild Language, Violence, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-09-11
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 16:23:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 42,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ersatzbeta/pseuds/obsolete_theory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gojyo owes Hakkai a debt and enters the human world to repay it. It's a simple task that gets complicated when the past starts to intrude on the present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story originated on my Livejournal. There are sea creatures and sailing ships and islands full of pirates and sea chanties and all kinds of good stuff. Also, Gojyo is some sort of interesting quasi-mer-person halfbreed, albeit dubiously vague in description. (Somehow, I just can't imagine him with a fish's tail...)
> 
> Aside from spell-checking, I've done very little in the way of editing. If something is really off, please let me know. I swear, this stuff all makes perfect sense in my head. Sometimes, it just doesn't come out right on paper.

Seven days later, Gojyo came up for air. The day was warm and the air of the just-past-noonday sun scalded his mouth and the inside of his nose. He gasped and reacquainted himself with his lungs. Seven days hadn't been enough to really do the job, but he'd almost not made it back to the surface without breathing in seawater. He felt the sides of his neck. Smooth skin. Good.

After a minute or two flat out against the rock, he heaved himself up onto the rock and started picking the seaweed out of his hair. He shook a small, silvery fish out of it, too, which plopped into the water. A crab scuttled over his feet, clacking its claws menacingly before it latched onto his big toe.

"Screw you, you little bastard!" he said.

He kicked it into the water and watched it sink with some small satisfaction. The crabs had been hell on him underwater, always picking at his healing wounds and running off before he could smash them or offer them to an octopus. He himself had never cared for the taste of raw crab.

Gojyo looked at himself critically, laid out on the rock.

His burns, which had seemed hideous and purple before, were merely pink and tender looking up here at the surface. Good. Toes and fingers and legs all intact, bruises gone, cuts satisfactorily scabbed over. He felt carefully of his face. He frowned, and that small motion pulled sharply at the wounds on his cheek. Too sharply. He wiped the blood away and laid a piece of kelp over the re-opened wounds. Scars, really, until that goddamn freak tore them open again. Oh, but he was going to pay, just as soon as Gojyo could lay hands on him. That was probably easier and harder than it sounded. The beast looked for him even now, Gojyo was sure: his escape had caught its attention, and it wouldn't give up unless something better came along. Unlikely, that. Gojyo looked at a strip of new pink skin around one wrist. He shuddered. That monster probably pulled the antennae off shrimp when it was little. He made a fist and banged it against the rock. His hand skidded on the algae and his nails cut into his palm. But first, he reminded himself. First, he had debts to pay.

Gojyo shaded his eyes from the sun and looked around. Ah. The island of men was to his west, though still some ways off. It was little more than a smudge on the horizon. Gojyo looked into the water doubtfully. The ocean shone and looked rather pleasant, but he knew he couldn't go to the underneath again so soon, not while he was injured, not when so many of the deep dwellers were in the thrall of that beast. So the surface it was.

He could swim to the island, riding the waves, but that would be cumbersome and slow, and probably not good for his healing body. He could hope a ship might take pity on him, but ships didn't like taking passengers who didn't have the coin to pay. Gojyo sighed and rolled over. He could trade himself for passage, but it'd have to be a damn sight worse of a situation before he did that again. Gojyo laid his injured cheek gently against the rock. Maybe he could make a raft? Though that too would require swimming further, to something that was more than just a ten foot rock covered in seaweed.

He had to get to that island and find the man. Hopefully, he'd be able to find him, or at least a trail of information leading to him. And if the man wasn't there? Gojyo scratched his scalp for a minute. If he wasn't there, then Gojyo would have to keep looking. No way was he going to leave a debt unpaid, not to a stupid human who would probably try to cash in on the debt, call him from the sea, at the worst possible time for some piddling little request that wouldn't even discharge the obligation. The beast would hear the call, too. And that would be very, very bad not only for Gojyo, but for the man as well.

Gojyo thought about the man for a minute. His gaze had had fathoms of experience that shone through the spectacles he'd worn. His eyes had been a brilliant, deep green, like nothing Gojyo knew underwater. There had been something else in that look, too. Gojyo had been measured, though for or against what, he had no idea. But. Those green eyes…

"Huh," said Gojyo. "Don't even know his name."

He had to find the green-eyed man, and that was all that mattered for now.


	2. Chapter 2

Sanzo had been traveling west for many years now, and he was certain his robes showed every mile of the journey. He leaned on the railing that ran along the edge of the ship's main deck. His clothing rubbed against the wood and he could almost feel the crunch of salt crystals coming off the fabric. He looked around dourly. One could hardly call this miserable conveyance a ship. It was a glorified river ferry, weaving its way between the inhabited islands of the archipelago. It was a small and dingy vessel, better suited to sitting at port than being on the water, but it was the only one that ran this route. Sanzo had to go this way: it was the fastest way for him to get where he was going. He had no intentions of being at sea for the month or more another route might take.

His stomach churned as they hit a particularly high swell. He gritted his teeth. Forcing one hand off the rail, he reached inside of his robes. He closed his fingers on a cigarette and did his best to ignore the movement of the ship as he made his way around the deck to the nearest lamp, already alight in the late afternoon. He opened the glass cover carefully and lit his cigarette off the wick, closing the glass again. He inhaled and shuddered. Ugh. Whale oil lamps made it taste off for the first few drags, but at least he hadn't run out of tobacco. Yet. He felt for the little pouch inside his clothing and relaxed a fraction. He had enough to get to port, as long as nothing out of the ordinary happened. He stood at the rail and smoked for a few minutes. It was almost nice, when he could ignore the motion of the ship.

And then, Goku came from below deck.

"Hey Sanzo," said Goku.

He tugged on the sleeve of Sanzo's robe.

"What?" said Sanzo.

He blew a stream of smoke over the side and watched it disappear into the waves the ship cut.

"Cook says it'll be dinnertime in an hour!" said Goku. "You'll like it tonight! Eel pie an' some seafood stew with those squid I helped catch in it and…"

Sanzo felt his stomach heave. His glare was diminished by the fact that he'd turned green. He pitched the butt of his cigarette overboard in disgust. He pulled a fan out of his sleeve and smacked Goku across the back of the head, twice.

"Owww, Sanzo! What was that for?" Said Goku.

He rubbed the spot with one hand.

"Shut up if you want to live," said Sanzo.

He immediately wished he hadn't opened his mouth as the bit of hardtack he'd had at lunch tried to crawl out again.

"Sanzo? Sanzo? Are you okay?"

Goku shook his shoulder. Sanzo gagged as his stomach did the sort of contortions and gyrations normally seen in traveling freak shows. He tried to distract himself from the feeling by staring out across the water. Rock, rock, water, rock, naked man on a rock…Oh no. He broke out in a cold sweat and shivered as his stomach rolled. He prayed Goku wasn't seeing what he was. Sanzo closed his eyes and leaned against the rail.

"Hey!" said Goku. "What's that guy doing out there?"

He turned for a better look as the ship got closer.

"Do you think he's dead, Sanzo?"

"I don't care," said Sanzo.

He ground his teeth and tried to focus himself with a spot of meditation. The nausea reduced just enough that he felt safe to open his eyes. He was just in time to see Goku diving into the water with a splash. Oh for heaven's sake. Goku surfaced and waved.

"Be right back," Goku yelled.

"The ship won't stop!" yelled Sanzo. "You don't get back here, you'll be left behind!"

Goku swam away toward the man on the rock. Of course something would happen to slow them down. Of course there'd be a naked man on a rock in the middle of the ocean. Bile rose in the back of his throat. And Sanzo finally, finally let go and offered the contents of his stomach to the sea.


	3. Chapter 3

Gojyo had nearly dozed off while planning. His eyes had been closed for some time, and the sun was nice after the days spent deep in the water where no light came, save the green-blue phosphorescence of certain fish, which wasn't light at all, really. So when splashing, regular splashing like something or someone swimming, came closer and closer to him, Gojyo was, just maybe, not quite as alert as he might have been on any other day. It was probably a turtle or a seal or something. He hoped it would pass him by. He didn't want to share his rock with anything so big or smelly as a seal.

And really, there was no way in hell anyone would expect that a hand--a very strong hand--would grab them by the ankle and try to drag them into the water. Gojyo kicked and connected with a crack. The hand let go.

"Ow! Hey!"

Gojyo sat up and opened his eyes. It wasn't a turtle or a seal, or any other child of the sea. It was a human kid with brown hair and golden eyes. Gojyo stifled a laugh. The kid was soaked and looked miserable, even as he glared daggers. A bruise shadowed one cheek.

"Sorry, shrimp. Didn't expect company out here," said Gojyo. "Where'd you come from, anyway?"

"My name's Goku," he said. "And I thought you were naked and hurt or dead or something. I jumped off the ship and swam all the way out here. But you have pants, so I guess maybe you don't need help?"

Gojyo felt the good humor drain from him.

"A ship?" he said. "There's a ship?"

"Well yeah," said Goku.

He hitched a thumb over his shoulder, pointing behind him, and Gojyo's jaw dropped. It was a ship, all right, a gloriously not shipwrecked, entirely real ship. Even at this distance, he could hear the rigging creak, the sails snapping with the force of the breeze, the steady hiss of the water parting around it.

Gojyo stood and stretched. He patted Goku on the shoulder.

"Well, it's been nice knowing ya, kid, but I've got a ship to catch," he said.

"Huh?" said Goku. "What are you talking about?"

Goku scratched his head.

"Well shrimp, you did good getting here, but the ship is moving away from us now," said Gojyo. "Me? I can catch up no problem. But you?"

Gojyo snorted.

"You suck at swimming, kid," he said. "I heard you coming from a mile away. You'll never get back to the ship."

"I can too get there," said Goku.

"That so, shrimp?" said Gojyo. "Wanna bet?"

"Hell yeah," said Goku. "I can totally beat you there!"

"Well then," said Gojyo.

He pretended to consider for a moment. Gojyo pointed to the land to the west.

"If I win, you pay my fare to that island," he said.

"And if I win," said Goku.

Goku thought for a minute.

"Hurry up, little shrimp," said Gojyo. "The ship's still moving away, remember?"

"If I win," said Goku. "You'll buy me dinner for a month and do everything Sanzo asks."

"Sanzo?" said Gojyo. "Who the crap is Sanzo?"

"My master," said Goku. "He's a monk."

Gojyo had a hard time covering his smile. This was going to be too easy. Clearly, the gods were smiling on him, sending a dewy-eyed kid with a monk for a master his way. Gojyo flipped his hair back and tied it with a strand of seaweed plucked from the rock. Finally, he thought. Finally, things are going my way.

"Okay. You got a bet," said Gojyo. "Now shake on it."

And they shook. Gojyo came away wanting to rub the hand the kid had just about crushed. No little shrimp was that strong. He gave Goku the eye. Had to be a fluke.

"Ready, set, go!" said Goku.

They dove into the ocean and moved swiftly away from the rock.


	4. Chapter 4

Gojyo was apoplectic by the time he drew even with the ship. Goku had beaten him to the ship by five minutes. Five minutes. He hadn't lost a race that bad since he was eight. And he'd lost the bet, too. But Goku was waiting, rope in hand, to haul him onto the ship. It was humiliating, especially when some blond guy minced his way over the deck and stared at him like he was last week's bait.

"What the hell do you want?" said Gojyo.

He made to get up and found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol. It was, Gojyo noted from a distant corner of his mind, an old-fashioned flintlock. The blond man cocked it. Apparently it worked well enough.

"Sanzo, please!" said Goku. "Please, please let him stay onboard! He's really awesome an' he swims real good and I bet he can tell us stuff or something."

Goku tugged on the arm holding the gun. Sanzo's aim wavered dangerously.

"Hey, watch it!" said Gojyo.

He ducked and rolled away, scrambling to his feet. Sanzo looked at him, speculative. He put the pistol away.

"You're broke, aren't you?" said Sanzo. "You'd have to be, to be stuck out there. It'd be just like Goku to find the only other useless freeloader within miles."

Sanzo, Gojyo decided, was just a fancy foreign word for asshole-in-a-dress. He opened his mouth to say as much, when the ship crested a wave and Sanzo's face changed rapidly from curious to nauseous. His knuckles were white as he gripped the rail and made awful retching sounds over the side. Gojyo smiled maliciously.

"Heh," said Gojyo. "Sailing doesn't agree with him, does it?"

Sanzo straightened up again. Goku went to his side, solicitous but not speaking, clinging to his sleeve.

"At least I can swim," said Sanzo.

He was still a little green around the lips, but his voice was smug.

"I can too swim!" said Gojyo. "The kid suckered me!"

Goku took a step forward, but Sanzo put a hand in front of him.

"You bet Goku dinner for a month and obeying my every command against your passage," said Sanzo. "And you lost, moron."

He pulled out a cigarette from his sleeve, lit it on the deck-rail lamp, and inhaled.

"What'd you call me?" said Gojyo.

Gojyo approached Sanzo, fists balled.

"You heard what I said," said Sanzo.

He looked down his nose at Gojyo, eyes narrow. One hand went into his robes again, and Gojyo heard the distinct sound of the pistol being cocked. He backed off and forced himself to be calm.

"You lost the bet," Sanzo said. "Besides. Goku didn't cheat. He learned to swim when he was living on an island."

He looked down at Goku, half a smile on his face, as if it were some sort of private joke. Goku frowned, but didn't contradict Sanzo.

Gojyo exploded.

"He lived on an island?!?" shouted Gojyo. "No way did he learn to swim like that just living on an island. I mean, he's what, like twelve? He couldn't have lived there that long!"

Gojyo waved his arms in the air as he vented his frustrations. This was all some big cosmic joke, and he was the punch line, he was sure.

"Five hundred years," said Sanzo.

His expression was deadpan as he spoke, but when he took another drag on his cigarette, one corner of his mouth twisted up just a fraction.

"What's five hundred years?" said Gojyo.

"How long Goku lived on the island," said Sanzo. "As near as I've been able to tell, anyway."

He exhaled a plume of smoke over the water. He didn't even get the cigarette to his lips again before Gojyo lost his temper.

"Bullshit!" said Gojyo. "Kid doesn't even look old enough to serve as a cabin boy! And nobody lives five hundred years, you lying, cheating goddamn monk!"

He stalked forward, intent on wringing the truth out of Sanzo's scrawny neck, but Goku jumped in the way. He punched Gojyo in the solar plexus and Gojyo went down on the deck next to Sanzo's feet, gasping for air.

"I'm eighteen, dumbass," said Goku. "And don't say stuff like that about Sanzo."

He nudged Gojyo with one foot. Gojyo stayed down.

Goku rounded on Sanzo.

"What the hell did you tell him that for, huh?" said Goku. "You know I was only there for a week!"

Goku waited, arms crossed and expectant. Gojyo snorted. Like Sanzo would ever confess to doing wrong. His holiness was arrogant to a fault, from what Gojyo could see. He knew the type. He was that type, most of the time, but at least he did it with a smile.

"So you say," said Sanzo. "So you say."

His mouth turned down, and he moved his gaze to Gojyo.

"Get up," Sanzo said.

Gojyo obeyed and kept his mouth shut, though there were plenty of things he wanted to say to the priest.

Sanzo stood and smoked for a minute, glancing back and forth between Goku and Gojyo, his eyes intense and hard. At length, he settled on Goku.

"You owe me," said Sanzo. "Big time. And you, Kappa."

Gojyo gritted his teeth.

"Don't call me that, ya damn monk," he said.

Sanzo whipped out a fan and nailed Gojyo in the back of the head. Gojyo rubbed at the sting of the blow.

"Don't you forget, you're here out of the kindness of my heart," said Sanzo. "So behave, or it's overboard you go."

"You don't have a heart," said Gojyo, under his breath. "Ow, shit!"

Sanzo had hit him again, laying the blow right on top of the old one.

"I heard that, freeloader," said Sanzo. "Now get out of my sight, both of you, before I change my mind."

Sanzo turned toward the rail again. The ship hit a rough patch of water and Gojyo was viciously pleased that Sanzo started looking ill again. As he made his way below decks, Goku close behind, he hoped that Sanzo would vomit up a lung.


	5. Chapter 5

Cho Hakkai sat at the counter of his shop. He sighed, thumbing the worn edges of a deck of cards beneath his hand. It had been another slow day--the cash box had remained untouched from beginning to end. He shifted position on his stool. The interior of the shop was dusty, dim, and appropriately esoteric-looking, considering what it was he stocked. Herbs hung from the rafters. Rocks and crystals shared shelf space with beeswax candles and handwritten tracts on all sorts of forms of mysticism. The walls were painted with strange scenes, presumably depicting rituals--in which Hakkai himself would have no desire to participate. The murals on two walls had long since flaked into obscurity; smears of blue and red and green were all that was left.

Though Hakkai burned no incense, the scent of it was a fugue in the air: stale, spicy, a hint fetid. He had not managed to get rid of the smell in the four years he'd had the shop. It was entirely possible the previous owner had cursed it, though Hakkai doubted it. That man's skills had lain in a different area. He frowned, noticing something odd about a heap of scrolls that littered one of the tables.

Hakkai stood, patted the deck of cards, and approached the papers. He lifted them up and breathed in sharply. It was a dark, smoothly polished wooden case. He knew from long experience that it contained mahjong tiles.

"I thought I'd locked you up," said Hakkai. "But you always seem to get out. You're far too clever, considering your master is gone."

He smiled at the irony; the case had showed up underneath a display of good-luck charms. It seemed his merchandise was faulty. Ah well. Most of the shop's contents were sheer fakery. Hakkai took hold of the box and pulled it off the table.

The case was cold, as it always was when he handled it, but he held it firmly. He locked it away in the storage space underneath the floor of the back room. Hakkai dusted off his hands and moved a heavy chest over the trapdoor. He inspected the room. Thankfully, the marionette had not gone wandering as well. It slumped in one corner of the room, inert, the delicate silver chain around its neck shining. Hakkai frowned, thoughtful, but he resisted the urge to touch it.

He left the back room and sat again at the counter, surveying his small, strange kingdom. Perhaps ten percent of what he sold in this shop did what it was supposed to do, not that he sold much in the way of merchandise. The herbs for healing were genuine, as was any healing he himself did. But what his shop really sold…was the future.

Hakkai contemplated the Tarot deck before him. He had a way with cards. All cards. He could read the flow of a poker game or the truth out of a four card spread. Because what he saw in the Tarot was always the truth. No meaning was hidden from him there. That was what people really came to him for: a peek into the future. Hakkai sighed and shuffled the deck. He didn't like reading the cards, but sometimes he did it out of necessity.

Most customers were happy to be sold astrological charts instead. After all, Hakkai had credentials in that field. To be more precise, he was an astronomer. He had trained under and entered service to the royal court of a kingdom so far to the east that no one here knew its name. He had been more than content to map the movements of the stars for the rest of his life. But, alas, his circumstances had changed. Hakkai had ended up here, on an island that was the end of a long chain of islands, port-of-call to all manner of sailors and ruffians, home to strange goods and stranger services and persons of interest who were better off forgotten in their hometowns. Hakkai fit in well enough.

He looked briefly to the sample horoscope charts layered neatly in the display counter. Most laymen didn't know there was a difference between astronomy, in which he was qualified, and astrology. It was a small lie. The charts sold well, even if they had nothing to do with the future at all. Some customers could not be dissuaded from a Tarot reading, though, no matter how politely he suggested the charts. This was, generally bad for business. Unhappy customers didn't pay. Or, if they had, they tried, sometimes violently, to reclaim their money. No one wanted the whole truth, not about themselves, not coming from the mouth of a smiling stranger who offered tea and, in the same breath, told them of their infidelities and pettiness and greed. Their private despairs. Their deaths. Their sins.

Hakkai set the cards down. He got up from his stool and went to front of the shop. He flipped the placard on the door from "Open" to "Closed." Hakkai locked the door.

He returned to the counter and lit the lamp beside him. He forced his fingers to stop shaking as he laid flint and striker in a drawer. Reaching under the counter, he retrieved a bottle and a small glass. Hakkai poured himself a drink, filled the glass half full and knocked it back. He swallowed again, willing spit into his mouth and tried not to think about how terrible it tasted. He poured another and set it, and the bottle, on the counter. The alcohol burned its way down to the pit of his stomach. He breathed in through his mouth and out through his nose. The taste filled his sinuses. Staring down at the deck, he took another swallow of the drink and removed his monocle, placing it to the side with great care. Hakkai laid his hands on the deck and began his reading.

Hakkai had not read the cards for himself in quite some time, perhaps even almost as long ago as when he'd been Cho Gonou, thousands of miles and a lifetime away from now. He shuddered, remembering. He cleared his thoughts and focused on the cards in front of him.

"Oh my," said Hakkai. "Oh dear."

He looked over the cards again. He was not mistaken. He sighed. And then, his eyes were drawn to his hand, laid out next to the spread. A very thin red bracelet circled his left wrist. Hakkai stroked it, the braid's texture slippery on the skin of his arm and his finger. He leaned on an elbow, cheek resting in the palm of his hand as he eyed the cards.

"I hadn't expected it to be so soon," he said. "I had hoped…"

Hakkai finished his drink quickly, the taste filming over his tongue. He poured another. His fingers trembled as he gathered the card into one pile again. He wrapped the deck up in a silk handkerchief, stood, and put it into his pocket. He surveyed the shop again, critical, and shook his head.

"This will never do," he said. "Not if I'm going to have company."

Hakkai drained the glass and grimaced. He corked the bottle and returned it and the glass to the underside of the cabinet. He rolled up his sleeves, lingering for a moment over the bracelet, and got up from his seat again.

"I believe I will start by washing the windows," he said. "After all, they won't be able to find me if they can't even see in."

Hakkai laughed to himself for a minute, leaning against the counter. And then he put on his monocle and got to work.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a slight change of pace, I realize, but it's a necessary piece of the story.

The Ballad of Chin Yisou

 

Chin Yisou was the devil's son:  
the black arts were his calling.  
Chin Yisou played mahjong for sport,  
For fun, he took to killing

Chin Yisou was the devil's son:  
he did just as he pleased.  
He stole away the fair Kanaan  
and would not set her free.

Chin Yisou was a cruel man,  
a cruel man was he.  
He hurt Cho Gonou's dear Kanaan  
and laughed for all to see.

 

Kanaan did beg Hyakugen Maoh,  
she begged him to go home.  
Kanaan she wept, Kanaan she cried  
for Gonou, all alone.

Hyakugen Maoh, that centipede  
he laughed at her instead.  
He locked her in the dungeon and  
his son he made her wed.

Chin Yisou was a cruel man,  
a cruel man was he.  
He hurt Cho Gonou's dear Kanaan  
and laughed for all to see.

 

Cho Gonou came to free Kanaan,  
he came to Yisou's home.  
Filled with fear for his Kanaan,  
He swiftly came alone.

Cho Gonou came to free Kannan,  
Alas, it was too late.  
Kanaan, she died in Gonou's arms.  
Cho Gonou boiled with hate.

Chin Yisou was a foolish man,  
a foolish man was he.  
he hurt Cho Gonou's dear Kanaan  
and fled across the sea.

 

Cho Gonou said "I'll kill him dead  
if e'er I see him again."  
Cho Gonou buried dear Kannan,  
he buried her and then:

Cho Gonou searched across the land,  
he looked both far and near.  
One step ahead, Chin Yisou fled  
the man he'd come to fear.

Chin Yisou was a foolish man,  
a foolish man was he.  
he hurt Cho Gonou's dear Kanaan  
and fled across the sea.

 

Cho Gonou, ever full of rage,  
he made a cunning plan.  
He'd hunt Chin Yisou's family down  
and kill them to a man.

Cho Gonou, ever full of rage  
a highway man became.  
Chin Yisou's family died in droves,  
their houses died in flames.

Chin Yisou was a stricken man,  
a stricken man was he.  
Vowing vengeance, Yisou sailed  
back home across the sea.

 

Chin Yisou tracked Cho Gonou down  
he challenged him to duel.  
And Yisou took Cho Gonou's eye,  
but not his life, the fool.

Chin Yisou worked his blackest arts  
to bring Cho Gonou low.  
But, alas, Chin Yisou failed  
to strike the fatal blow.

Chin Yisou was a broken man,  
a broken man was he.  
And never more would he traverse  
the lands across the sea.

 

Cho Gonou took Chin Yisou's heart,  
he crushed it in his hand.  
His anger spent, and reason back,  
Cho Gonou fled the land.

Cho Gonou took Chin Yisou's heart,  
he took his mahjong tiles.  
He took his clever marionette  
and sailed across the isles.

Cho Gonou was a wanted man,  
a wanted man was he.  
Cho Gonou was a highway man  
who fled across the sea.

Cho Gonou was a highway man,  
a highway man was he.  
Cho Gonou was a wanted man  
who fled across the sea.

Cho Gonou was a wanted man  
who fled across the sea.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, back to the usual style of narrative.

Three days later, Gojyo was sick of the ship. Today was worse than the previous two onboard--the sea was glassy smooth and the breeze was fitful, barely enough to fill the sails. He stood on deck, tracking their progress through the water with a jaundiced eye. He was sick of how damn slow the ship went, how it stopped at every island along the way, how the passenger quarters smelled.

Gojyo paced along the edge of the deck. He shuddered at the thought that he'd be forced to eat the food aboard ship for four more days. What he wouldn't give for a nice fresh conch or a handful of periwinkles that had been fed on tender young kelp; anything but the continued variations on day-old eel pie and seafood mystery stew. He didn't think he could face another bowl that had tentacles floating on top. Gojyo understood now why Sanzo stuck to hard-tack. He frowned.

Speaking of, he wanted to go back in time and make sure those two never caught sight of him. Goku was so cheerful every day about everything that Gojyo wanted to drop him overboard. He suspected that Sanzo got a charge out of ordering him around and making him play with Goku. Heh. At least the kid didn't want to do something dumb like have tea parties. Nope. Goku was always wanting to fight, and Gojyo was okay with that. It'd been a while since he'd had to defend himself above water, and, though he'd never admit it to the shrimp, he needed the practice. Frankly, he was kind of surprised that no one had noticed how awkward he was on two legs. He stared down at his feet and wiggled his toes before continuing on around the deck.

 

And Sanzo…well. The less he thought about that unremitting bastard, the better. Gojyo didn't know if it was the seasickness that made him such a miserable person to be around, but he thought not. He hummed to himself as he leaned on the rail and stared out across the sea. The island was waiting for him and, though it inched closer every day, Gojyo felt completely useless as the ship crawled along. He turned himself around and just about jumped out of his skin as he came face to face with Sanzo.

"Speak of the devil," Gojyo said. "What is it this time? Shrimp need his diaper changed? You need a foot massage or an ego rubdown? Cause I gotta say, I'm not much of a masseuse."

Sanzo glared at him. Ah, another day on the good ship Holy Asshole. Gojyo clasped his hands behind his head.

"Goku's still asleep," said Sanzo. "And you're in my way."

Gojyo switched to whistling instead and was promptly smacked on top of the head with a fan. He yelped and moved to the side. Sanzo stole his place at the rail and brought a cigarette out of his robes. He looked at it contemplatively. His shadow rippled over the water.

"What, you don't like my voice?" said Gojyo. "I'm not that bad a singer!"

And so, of course, Gojyo gave in to the urge to actually sing the song. The problem was, he didn't really know the lyrics except for the refrain.

"Quit singing that song, you moron," said Sanzo. "It's bad enough that I have to travel with you. I don't want to listen to your noise."

Gojyo sang louder.

"Those aren't even the right words," said Sanzo.

Sanzo brought out his pistol. Gojyo backed off, ready to duck and cover. But he didn't have to. Sanzo wasn't aiming the gun at him: he wasn't aiming it at anyone. Instead, he appeared to be…lighting his cigarette from the sparks the flint made as he pulled the trigger. Finally, the cigarette caught. Sanzo put the pistol away.

Gojyo stared at him, equal parts horrified and fascinated.

"What?" said Sanzo. "It's not loaded."

The unspoken addendum of "you moron" hung in the air.

"Okay," said Gojyo.

He started whistling again and couldn't help a smile as Sanzo ground his teeth.

"I hate that song," said Sanzo. "I want to shoot whoever the hell wrote it because they got it wrong."

Gojyo went silent for a second. Then he laughed.

"What?" said Gojyo. "You're shitting me. How would you know if it's wrong or not? Besides, that song is pretty low-class for you to know, isn't it? I mean, what with all the chanting and crap you monks are supposed to do."

"I met him once," said Sanzo.

Sanzo busied himself with his cigarette. Gojyo snorted and crossed his arms loosely over his chest.

"Who? Chin Yisou?" he said. "I don't believe that for a second."

"No, you moron," said Sanzo. "Chin Yisou's not who that song is really about. It's about Ha--Cho Gonou."

Gojyo paled. Nah. Sanzo couldn't be serious. He shook himself and laughed again, walking around Sanzo.

"You met Cho Gonou?" he said. "Go pull the other one! And anyway, isn't he supposed to be dead?"

Sanzo hit him with the fan again. His mouth turned itself down and his face was grim. Gojyo stilled; Sanzo looked so serious it was impossible to dismiss his claim.

"He's a fugitive," said Sanzo. "If you'd paid any attention to the song, you'd already know that. He ran away before they could execute him for all the crimes he committed."

Sanzo's frown deepened.

"He did a lot of things for which he has yet to atone," he said.

"The murders?" said Gojyo. "Like in the song?"

Sanzo rolled his eyes and puffed furiously on his cigarette.

"Those, yes, but also for sleeping with his sister, among other things," said Sanzo. "It's a crime where we come from, and I assume it's the same here."

He sized Gojyo up with his eyes, as if he expected him to suddenly break down and confess his wrongdoings. Sanzo's shadow trembled over the waves, and Gojyo thought, just for a second, that there was something not quite right with it. It was probably just how the water lay under it that made it look strange for a minute. It hit Gojyo then, what Sanzo had implied, and he forgot all about Sanzo's shadow.

"Hey!" said Gojyo. "You said we! Did you two know each other or something?"

"We met, once," said Sanzo. "I didn't put it together until too late, otherwise I would have shot him somewhere painful and dragged him back to face judgment."

And then Sanzo's former words sunk in, too.

"Wait," said Gojyo. "Kanaan was his lover, not his sister!"

"She was his sister, too," said Sanzo. "I can assure you, that's the truth."

"Dude," said Gojyo.

He perched on the rail beside Sanzo and filched the cigarette out of the monk's hand. He took a drag, exhaled smoke, coughed, and handed it back over to a livid Sanzo. Gojyo didn't really get the appeal of smoking, but the look on Sanzo's face was priceless.

"Cho Gonou's dangerous," said Sanzo. "Very dangerous."

"I bet," said Gojyo.

"And that's who we're going to go see," said Sanzo.

Gojyo just about choked on his tongue. Sanzo looked pleased with himself.

"But, but!" said Gojyo.

He reached for Sanzo's cigarette again, but got his hand slapped away.

"I need his services," said Sanzo.

Gojyo's eyes went wide.

"Don't look at me like that," said Sanzo. "He does other things besides kill people."

One lip twisted up, smug, Sanzo smoked. He had to be messing with him, Gojyo decided. There was no way he was serious.

"Like what?" said Gojyo. "What could he possibly do that your holiness would need?"

Sanzo's face darkened. He did not speak. He shook out his robes, leaned back against the rail, and blew a cloud of smoke into the air.

"Oh come on," said Gojyo. "Who'm I going to tell? As soon as we get to port, you'll never see me again."

Sanzo stared up into the sky for a minute more before answering.

"Fine," said Sanzo. "Since you want to know so badly, I need answers."

"From a mass murderer," said Gojyo. "Right."

He crossed his arms, skeptical. Obviously, Sanzo didn't want to tell him the truth. Gojyo stared him down.

"You don't believe me," said Sanzo.

"No," said Gojyo. "I don't. What is so important that you'd chase this guy down just to ask him questions?"

"You don't understand," said Sanzo. "Ha--Gonou. He can tell the future. And it's always, always true."

Faint unease shivered its way through Gojyo. He frowned and drummed his fingers against the rail. Something was circling the edge of his memory, but he couldn't yet recall whatever it was that lurked just out of reach.

"You look like someone walked over your grave," said Sanzo.

He pitched the end of the cigarette over the rail and into the sea. His shadow moved along with him, and the butt plopped squarely in the middle of the head of it before the ship's wake washed the cigarette away.

"Hey, Sanzo," said Gojyo. "What's this guy look like?"

Gojyo forced himself to be casual. He slid down the rail and sat on the deck. A post dug into his spine as Sanzo looked down at him, really looked at him. He narrowed his eyes.

"A little shorter than you, dark hair," said Sanzo. "Polite to the point of ridiculousness. Why?"

"Oh, no reason," said Gojyo. "Just want to know who to avoid, you know."

Gojyo slid further down and rolled over onto his belly. He pushed himself up to his feet. Yawning and stretching his arms, he made to leave.

"Think I'll go wake the kid up," Gojyo said. "See ya later!"

Sanzo grabbed his wrist and stared into his face.

"Let me go, asshole," said Gojyo.

He yanked hard, but Sanzo's grip was like iron. Gojyo's heart beat fast in his chest.

"He's got green eyes," said Sanzo.

Gojyo flinched.

"Thought so," said Sanzo. "When did you have the misfortune of running into him?"

He let go of Gojyo and leaned back against the rail with a satisfied look. Gojyo flipped Sanzo off. He stalked away, refusing to answer.

Gojyo tried to reassure himself, despite the horrible feeling in his gut. This was all a mistake, that was all. Sanzo was an asshole and this was just a mistake in communication. There were plenty of dark-haired, green-eyed men out there, and one of them who was not Cho Gonou was the man he was looking for. Gojyo tried to forget all about the whole encounter. He went below deck, rubbing his wrist all the way.


	8. Chapter 8

Gojyo found Goku still in bed in the cramped quarters the three of them now shared--though, really, calling three hammocks strung across a six-by-six foot square space quarters was a stretch, even for him, and he was used to crappy digs. It was a good thing Goku was so short, or it never would have worked. Hell, even for two people it would hardly be comfortable. No wonder Sanzo spent all his time on deck.

Gojyo laid a foot on one of the ropes that anchored Goku's hammock. He flexed his knee, pushing the rope, and the hammock rocked violently.

"Wake up, shrimp!" he said.

"'M not asleep!" said Goku.

His eyes were closed, but his hands curled into the sides of the netting so he wouldn't get dumped on the floor. Gojyo jiggled his foot, then kicked harder once more for good measure before he gave up and stood aside. Goku yawned, and dangled one leg over the side of the hammock.

"Hey, Goku?" said Gojyo.

Yeah?" said Goku. He swayed aimlessly, kicking against the floor to keep himself swaying.

"Is Sanzo full of crap?" said Gojyo. "Did you guys really meet Cho Gonou, the guy in that song?"

Gojyo congratulated himself for thinking to ask Goku. He'd get a straighter answer from the shrimp than he'd ever get out of Sanzo's sneaky ass; Goku might have been a kid, but he wasn't a liar.

"Yeah, we did," said Goku. "Why?"

He scratched his head and yawned again.

"What was he like?" said Gojyo.

He tried to play it cool. Even though he felt like an idiot for even thinking about this any more, Gojyo couldn't squash the curiosity that kept nipping at him.

"He was sad, I guess," said Goku. "He didn't seem like a bad guy."

His expression turned unusually serious. Bracing his legs against the floor to keep from spilling out of the hammock, Goku sat up. His eyes were earnest.

"But wouldn't he have to be a bad guy, to do all those things?" said Goku. "Killing all those people and stuff…"

"I don't know, kid," said Gojyo. "Maybe. Maybe not. I wouldn't know much about it, myself."

"Huh?" said Goku. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Gojyo paused before he answered. He tapped one hand against his thigh.

"Right and wrong," said Gojyo. "That's something better left to people like Sanzo, people who can just sit around all day and talk it over. Me? I've got a life to live. I don't have time for crap like that."

"Your life must be totally weird," said Goku.

"Shrimp," said Gojyo. "You have no idea."

Goku bounced out of bed, leaving the hammock winding around itself.

"I'm hungry, and all this thinking's giving me a headache..." he said. "and then we can go see Sanzo!" Goku said.

"Well, Sanzo's in a pretty bad mood right now," said Gojyo. "I don't think he'll want to see us."

Goku was crestfallen. Gojyo felt compelled to cheer him up.

"C'mon. Let's go get something to eat," Gojyo said.

He ruffled Goku's hair and made himself smile for the kid.

"D'you think it'll be eel pie today, or seafood stew?" said Goku. "They're both really good!"

"Neither, I hope," said Gojyo, under his breath.

They walked, Goku racing ahead and Gojyo a little behind, up the stairs and into the light of the open deck.


	9. Chapter 9

That night, Gojyo stayed up late. The movements of the ship weren't relaxing him as they had before; the boat hitched as it rolled from wave to wave, as if it might topple over at any second. Memory crept over him, bit by bit, and he sat down on deck, head lolled back against the railing, skull tapping gently with each wave the ship crested. Gojyo wished he had something to drink, anything to blunt what he knew was rising in the back of his mind. He curled his hands into fists and bit his lip. The copper taste of blood sent him back into himself, into his past.

He closed his eyes and remembered.

 

Gojyo didn't know how long he'd been asleep. He remembered being on a ship, but where had he been headed? And there had been a man, and some sort of trouble. Maybe he'd hit his head? He felt so strange. Cautious, he opened his eyes.

This wasn't his house, wasn't a friend's home. He didn't recognize anything about this cave. Even for underwater, it was murky and dim and weirdly lit. And there were dead things all over the place. Skeletons and bodies and…pieces. He didn't think he wanted to know what they were. It looked like the den of something dangerous, something that didn't eat its prey all at once. Something that kept souvenirs. He felt sick. And then he looked at himself. Gojyo panicked.

He pulled, uselessly, at the chains that bound him to a slab of rock, struggled to get free, stirring the water and kicking up eddies of sand. He tried to calm himself, even as he felt the atmosphere pressing down on him, smothering him. If he could just concentrate enough, he could change forms and maybe slip free. Gojyo leaned his head on one shoulder and a small portion of the anxiety unknotted itself. His gills fluttered regularly and he straightened up. That was something. Being able to breathe was a huge thing. No telling how long he'd been underwater, though, no way to know when he'd need to use his lungs or drown. But one thing at a time, he told himself. He needed to find a way to get free.

 

And then something stirred in the gloom. The hairs on the back of Gojyo's neck prickled as the water, disturbed, rolled over him and told him someone, something was approaching. Gojyo gritted his teeth, put on his best smile, and promised himself he would not close his eyes and try to pretend everything was going to be fine.

"I'm so glad to see you're awake," came a voice. "I do hope my associates weren't too rough with you."

The something came into view. Gojyo couldn't help the shiver that ran over him when he saw what it was. He didn't know exactly what it was, truthfully. Some sort of halfbreed, maybe? All he could really discern was a mass of tentacles swishing through the water.

"Who the hell are you?" said Gojyo. "And you'd better let me up so I can kick your ass!"

The beast laughed.

"Of course, of course," it said. "But might I suggest you stop thrashing so? It wouldn't do for you to hurt yourself, not before I've gotten started."

"No way in hell am I letting you eat me!" said Gojyo.

The creature paused. After a moment, it continued forward.

"Eat you?" it said. "Why would I want to do that? I'm not like that foolish mother of yours."

Gojyo went absolutely still. The creature laughed again.

"Oh yes," it said. "I know all about it, and I can assure you I have no interest in that."

The tentacles swirled, and a form coalesced, tentacles absorbed into it until a man was left standing there. He walked forward, and Gojyo could hear the sound of suckers each time the thing took a step.

Gojyo stared, open-mouthed.

"Hmm?" said the man.

He seemed genuinely puzzled by Gojyo's reaction. He looked at his hands, turned them over as if to check for abnormality.

"Is something wrong?" the man said. "Surely you didn't think you were the only creature in this world that could change its form."

The man had dark hair and darker eyes. He looked down at his feet for a moment.

"Of course, one must expect to make a sacrifice or two along the way," he said. "Take this shape, for example. It has its flaws, but sometimes it is better to have the appearance of a human, don't you agree?"

He laid a hand on Gojyo's chest and Gojyo tried to jerk away. He could feel the tentacle's suckers sticking to him and anyway, he was chained up and couldn't move much. He couldn't get away.

"Now now," said the man. "I've hardly even begun."

He patted Gojyo lightly.

"What do you want, asshole?" said Gojyo. "I don't have all day here."

The man laughed, head thrown back, teeth exposed and sharp.

"I do believe you will be a most enlightening subject," he said. "As for what I want?"

The man leaned close.

"I want to take you apart," he said. "All in the name of research, of course. Can't stop progress, after all, and yours is a fascinating form."

 

He laid his cheek alongside Gojyo's, stubble scratching Gojyo's skin. Gojyo tried not to panic, to slow his racing heart. He closed his eyes and tried to turn his head away. But then, something hard and razor-edged dug into one of the scars on his cheek. Gojyo froze.

He whispered in Gojyo's ear.

"What I want," the man said. "Is to consume you."

And he tore open the scars.

 

Gojyo cracked his eyes open. The moon was out and it wavered over the water. He shivered. He laid a hand on his cheek; the scars throbbed as if they were just made. He could feel his pulse through his skin, could feel the flush of remembered fear rising into his cheeks, across the bridge of his nose.

There was a splash, far out. He started and twisted around. Could it be? He strained his eyes in the darkness, searching for some sign, some clue that his thinking about the creature had called it here. He held his breath for long minutes. No. It was nothing. His heart pounded in the cage of his ribs. It was nothing after all.

Still, Gojyo didn't leave his post. Something was out there, and he'd keep an eye peeled for it, whatever it might be. He curled into himself and laid his burning cheek on one knee. He wished he could go back in time, that he could just jump off the side of the ship and swim away from everything. He sighed.

Gojyo waited for the sun to chase away the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three guesses who the creepy, research-oriented evil sea creature is, and the first two don't count. In all seriousness, I hope you like this first glimpse of Ukoku.


	10. Chapter 10

Hakkai awoke in a cold sweat. He blinked in the predawn grey, eyes adjusting slowly as his mind cleared away the last remnants of the dream state. He yawned and reached for his monocle, which should have been on the bedside table to his right. Instead, his hand encountered a stack of papers. Hakkai smiled a little smile. It was a good thing no one was there to see this.

He'd fallen asleep at the small desk he kept in his bedroom; now that he was nominally aware of it, he could feel the hard edges of it digging into his ribs. Somewhat blindly, he felt in front of him. Ah. There. He settled the monocle over the bridge of his nose. Carefully, he eased himself up and off the papers he'd been sleeping on. He hoped that he hadn't wrinkled them too badly, considering the cost of paper and how, for the most part, he skirted the edges of poverty as it was. Perhaps if he steamed them?

Hakkai reached for a nearby lamp. Its flame guttered at the edge of the mantle and he hurriedly adjusted it. The lamp glowed steadily now, the fire no longer in danged of drowning in the fuel. He breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't ruined the papers after all. He set the lamp carefully down on a clear space, trying to ignore how his hands trembled and his breath still came short. Carefully, Hakkai wiped one hand across his forehead.

"Too close by far," he said.

He crossed the room and opened the shutters over the lone, small window. The sun was not yet creeping over the horizon. Was it worth it to try and sleep a short while longer? He didn't have to be up for a few hours yet. Hakkai smiled sharply. No one would say anything if he went around with dark circles under his eyes. His breath caught in his throat then, as he remembered what the cards had told him. A terrible feeling swirled around inside him; anticipation, dread, relief all jockeyed for position. Perhaps today would be the day that his past would, quite literally, catch up to him. He forced himself to shrug. The movement felt completely foreign.

Hakkai stripped out of his clothing and laid himself on the bed. He stayed atop the covers; the night-turning-morning was fairly warm yet, and Hakkai was heavy with the knowledge that another unbearable day would soon begin. It wasn't worth it to crawl between the sheets.

He stared at the ceiling and drifted in and out, closing his eyes for seconds or minutes at a time. The waiting wore on him, even as he went through the motions of normalcy. He floated along in a fog of weary sleeplessness. The light on the walls grew incrementally brighter as the day inched closer.

A sudden clatter in the room had him jumping out of bed, hand curled tightly around the knife he typically kept tucked in the pillowcase. He swept the room with his eyes. The shutters were still open at the window and they stirred in the air. Ah. Hakkai relaxed minutely.

"Cho Gonou."

Hakkai froze at the sound of the childlike voice from behind him. He turned, stiff, cold, his heart pounding like war drums. His hand tightened convulsively around the hilt of the knife. The pit of his stomach sank and he felt the scar across his abdomen pull as he twisted around at the waist. A strong scent of incense and mold and old blood and rot filled the room, drawn through with the breeze that flapped the shutters. Hakkai coughed, once, but didn't cover his mouth with his free hand.

"Cho Gonou," came the voice again.

Hakkai spotted a flicker of movement, a brief dazzle of light. There. Just beside the bedroom door. It was the marionette. A broken silver chain slithered to the floor from around its neck, and it stepped forward three precise steps.

"Cho Gonou the murderer," it said.

Its mouth gaped open, the halves of it clopping together at the end of each word. Except for the movement of its wooden jaws, it was perfectly still. For a brief second, Hakkai hated the little painted doll more than anything. He tossed his knife onto the bedspread.

"It's back to the cellar you go," he said.

Hakkai stripped the pillowcase off the pillow. He stepped into the pants he'd worn the day before. Then, he crossed the few feet between him and the marionette, jerked the pillowcase over its head, and shoved it the rest of the way in. He held the bundle at arms' length as he left the bedroom and descended the dark, narrow stairs.

Even as Hakkai arranged the marionette in its little corner of the back room, even as he fetched a new silver chain--heavier and longer than the last--and wrapped it around the now silent figure, he could hear the laughter of its owner. The sound chased him, echoing down through time, stealing into his head, scarcely louder than a whisper but impossible to ignore. He crushed the impulse to lash out at the marionette, to kick it across the room or, perhaps, to lock it away with the mahjong tiles. He knew from long experience that doing so would only make things worse. He exhaled. That man was still laughing, and there was nothing Hakkai could do to make it stop.

 

At last Hakkai felt the puppet was secure. Perhaps he'd have his visitors take a look at the infernal thing, see if there were a more spiritual route to take in silencing it. The room looked a bit fuzzy without his monocle, but he felt the marionette's expression was especially mocking today. Hakkai locked the back room, mind already skipping ahead.

Tea. Tea would be just the thing after such a start. He retrieved a spare monocle from under the cash register and blinked as his sight adjusted. Oh.

"Clothing first," said Hakkai. "then tea, I suppose,"

He paused, thinking, then sighed. It wouldn't be long before his time would run out. Perhaps not today, or tomorrow, but soon. He stroked the red braid around his wrist, unsure whether to hope for another day's reprieve between now and the inevitable. Put into perspective, things like clothing or food mattered very little. He sighed again. Hakkai had appearances to uphold, despite the less than ideal circumstances. His guests would, doubtless, be expecting certain things from him, and he'd be a poor host to disappoint.

The buttery sun slipped over the horizon. Hakkai readied himself for the onslaught of the day.

 

Gojyo was finally asleep on the deck of the ship. The sea pulled at his bones even as the sun began to bake his skin. He rolled over, and a strand of his hair slithered into the water as the ship rode low in a wave. He dreamed of green eyes.

 

In the deep, inky darkness of the water, something stirred. Cold and patient, it continued to wait for prey.


	11. Chapter 11

Gojyo was more than ready to ditch Sanzo and Goku by the time the ship hit port. He needed to find the green-eyed man, whoever he was. He needed to find him, fulfill his obligation somehow and then, then…maybe he could go home. Maybe the beast had forgotten about him by now. There were a couple times in the week he'd been aboard that he thought he'd seen something strange in the water, but it had turned out to be nothing. Nothing at all.

He whistled to himself as he strolled down the gangplank.

"And where do you think you're going?" said Sanzo.

Gojyo stopped, just on the dock and out of the way of the rest of the people debarking. He turned around and found that Sanzo was closer behind him than he'd expected.

"I told you, you'd never see me again, once we got here," said Gojyo. "So I'm going. Say goodbye to the shrimp for me, yeah?"

"Like hell," said Sanzo. "You owe me money, or did you conveniently forget, freeloader?"

He caught Gojyo at the shoulder and frowned at him, silently boring holes into him with his too-sharp eyes. Gojyo sighed when it became apparent that Sanzo had no intention of letting him go.

"Fine," said Gojyo. "How much do I owe you?"

Removing his hand from Gojyo, Sanzo crossed his arms over his chest, and his lips twisted upward at one corner. He named an obscene amount of money.

"What?!?" said Gojyo. "It did not cost that much, I know it didn't!"

Sanzo held up a hand and counted on his fingers.

"One," he said. "There was the matter of the passage. Two, we rescued you, and three, well. You really want to argue with the man with the gun?"

Gojyo shook his head and snorted. Sanzo drew and cocked his weapon.

"Pfft," said Gojyo. "That thing's not even loaded, you said so yourself on the ship."

He winced as the barrel of it dug into his kidney. Gojyo froze instinctively.

"That was on the ship," said Sanzo.

He spoke directly into Gojyo's ear, voice low and rumbling.

 

"Do you really want to try me?" Sanzo said.

Gojyo began to have misgivings, though he was somewhat certain that he wouldn't be shot. Then again, Sanzo had been quite testy the entire time he'd known him. Gojyo raised his hands in surrender.

"Okay, okay," he said.

And then he paused, considering.

"Got any cash?" said Gojyo.

Sanzo stared at him. He put the pistol away.

"What?" said Gojyo. "I need some money if I'm going to get your money back."

"And how, precisely, do you plan on doing that?" said Sanzo.

"By doing what I do best," said Gojyo.

Sanzo's narrowed eyes and pinched mouth spelled out exactly what he thought Gojyo did best.

"Hey!" said Gojyo. "I wouldn't need to borrow money from you if that was my best skill!"

 

"Oh really," said Sanzo. "You don't look like you'd charge much money, and if they gave you something in a large denomination…I thought you might need to make change."

Gojyo gave himself a look-over. Shirtless, true, but he had pants on. No tattoos, no piercings, and the beadwork in his hair was subtle, damn it, not like some of the outlandish stuff he'd seen around. He was practically respectable, all things considered. Gojyo felt mutinous, and so he slugged Sanzo in the shoulder. He got a fan to the head for his trouble.

"I'm going to go play some poker," said Gojyo. "I need money to bet."

He rubbed the sting out of his scalp and vowed silent revenge...somehow.

Sanzo's eyebrows hiked up.

"I liked it better when I thought you were whoring," said Sanzo.

He sighed, sounding simultaneously annoyed and resigned.

"How much money will it take?" Sanzo said.

Gojyo was surprised. Maybe Sanzo wasn't such an asshole after all. He supposed puking non-stop for however long the boat ride had been could have done a number on the man's personality.

"How fast do you want your money back?" said Gojyo. "I can work my way up from penny ante, but it'll take a while, and there's always a chance that someone will catch on before I'm done."

Sanzo, frowning all the while, dug into his robes, took out a small money-purse, and flipped Gojyo a few gold pieces. Gojyo gaped at him. It was more money than he'd ever held--at one time--in his life.

"Don't forget," said Sanzo. "You're still going to have to buy dinner for the monkey, and he does not eat cheap."

Gojyo stared at the money in his palm a little more, then looked over at Sanzo again. The other man rolled his eyes and got out a cigarette. He lit it. He took a drag, and then noticed that Gojyo was still standing there, staring at him.

"Do it quick, before I decide that shooting you will be more satisfying," said Sanzo.

He waved his gun for emphasis.

Gojyo skedaddled.

 

The first thing Gojyo did was get the lay of the land. He noted where the bars were, the eateries, the shops, the brothels. He strolled through neighborhoods, some decent, some not, none of them well-to-do. Not that he expected much from such a place as this. The town reminded him too much of things he'd rather forget, frankly. There were a lot of taverns, a lot of dark alleyways, and not much in the way of clean living. If Gojyo hadn't known with total assuredness that the ocean was so close, he would have suffocated on the choking miasma of humanity all around him.

He circled back around to the harbor and found a rag man and a tailor who would do what he needed cheaply and quickly. After all, he couldn't wander the human world with only his pants and a pair of slightly-too-big boots he'd liberated from one of the ship's crew who'd been too free with both his drinking and his hands. Well, okay, Gojyo probably could wander around shirtless, but he'd get noticed, and the last thing he wanted right now was to be noticed. He needed to blend in as much as he could manage.

Gojyo bargained hard with the rag man, and came away with a hole-free, only slightly stained, tent of a shirt. Then he went to the tailor he'd earmarked earlier. The tailor measured him, marked and pinned the shirt for alterations, and sent Gojyo out. It would be a few hours before the shirt was taken in. Gojyo snorted. He knew the tailor didn't have any other custom at the moment--which was why he'd picked that one--and still the man had tried to fleece him for all he was worth. Small wonder he didn't have much business.

 

Having a few hours to kill, Gojyo wandered the town a second time, familiarizing himself in greater detail. He didn't want to be turning down a blind alley or a dead end if or when he might be fleeing a group of angry poker players. He was so intent on committing the side streets to memory that he almost--almost--didn't recognize the dark-haired man wandering by.

"No way," said Gojyo. "Was that?"

He ran out to the main street and looked around frantically. There!

"Hey!" yelled Gojyo. "Hey you!"

Half a dozen people turned and looked at him, but the dark-haired man kept moving away. Gojyo tried to shove his way through the crowd, but all he did was anger a group of rowdy sailors. By the time he got himself out of the jam, the man he'd seen was gone.

"Damn," said Gojyo. "Was that him, or not?"

He cast an eye at the sinking sun. Time to check up on his shirt. And then, then: to the gambling dens. Whistling to himself, he walked back the way he'd came.

 

Hakkai cautiously looked behind him. He breathed a sigh of relief. Gojyo wasn't following him any more. That had been far too close for comfort. He held a hand to his heart for a moment, willing it to slow to an acceptable tempo. If Gojyo was here, that meant Sanzo was here as well. Hakkai tried to shake the coldness out of his fingers. He hastened back to his shop to make tea. It wouldn't do to be completely unprepared, even with the circumstances being what they were.

Hakkai's heart hammered in his chest. He wondered when Gojyo would finally catch up with him, then shook himself. Now was not the time. He ought to be worrying about Sanzo right now, and nothing else. Still, red hair and redder eyes were remarkably hard to banish from his thoughts. Hakkai ran the rest of the way home.


	12. Chapter 12

Sanzo was surprised. After asking a handful of people working on the docks, he knew where Hakkai lived and worked. It seemed he'd earned quite a reputation for himself, between the astrological charts and the mumbo-jumbo he sold in his shop. Sanzo snorted. Anti-climactic though it was, it made his job a hell of a lot easier. He rooted around in the sleeve of his robe and pulled out his moneypurse.

"Hey Goku," he said.

"Yeah?" said Goku.

Sanzo tossed some silver pieces at him, and Goku snapped them out of the air, catching the last one as he executed a handspring. Goku beamed at him. Sanzo ground his teeth.

"Stop being so conspicuous," Sanzo said. "And go and find yourself something to eat. See the town. Whatever Meet me back here at sunset. I'm going to go scout out an inn."

"Thanks Sanzo!" said Goku. "I'm starving!"

He sped off from the docks, leaving a trail of chaos in his wake. Confused porters staggered under their loads, and coils of rope were hopelessly tangled with fishing nets as Goku followed the scents of roast meat and fried somethings that hung in the air. Smelling it too, Sanzo was glad he was finally on dry land. He picked up their single bag of luggage, hefted it over one shoulder, and started walking.

First things first. Sanzo did as he claimed. He went around the town, sorting out good from bad, merely unpleasant from dangerous, overpriced from not. The early afternoon sun beat down on him. For the hundred thousandth time, he wished his robes weren't so hot. His breastplate dragged at his shoulders, and sweat rolled down his forehead. Sanzo gritted his teeth and counted to ten each time he was propositioned by the ill-washed and illiterate. He didn't bother arguing about the ceremonial significance of his robes and how they looked, in fact, nothing like a dress. Rather, he made his calming count to ten and drew his gun. The barrel, well-worn and loved, did quite a bit to settle these little disagreements.

Within an hour of debarking, Sanzo chose an inn. The White Dragon looked to be in good repair, comparatively speaking, and the price wasn't completely outrageous. The common room had a quiet enough crowd; it wasn't deserted, but it wasn't packed with mid-afternoon drunks and ne'r-do-wells, either, as some of the establishments had been. Sanzo had a feeling that this was as good as it got in this city. It was a depressing though.

He rented a pair of rooms and sighed, thinking about what to do next. What he really wanted to do was to go upstairs, wash out his clothes, and bathe. He wanted to sleep in a place that wasn't crowded, on a bed that wasn't a scratchy hammock, in a room that wasn't in the belly of a miserable little ship going over the roughest, most nausea-inducing waters he'd ever had the misfortune to encounter. He wanted a hot meal that wasn't made out of some sort of sea creature boiled into submission. Sanzo wanted Goku bring the luggage, such as it was, up the stairs for him.

As it was, he made do. He hauled the bag up three flights of stairs, each darker and more rickety than the last. Panting for breath, Sanzo opened the door of one room. He sat for a minute on the bed and caught his breath. Lighting a cigarette, Sanzo vowed to get something to eat later, after he'd conducted his business. Then, he steeled himself and went back downstairs, back out into the full, blasting heat of the afternoon, and sought out Hakkai.

 

Sanzo wandered in near-circles for some time before he found what he was looking for. Hakkai's shop--and home--was on the edge of no-man's land, a street or two each way from both the worst part of town and the busy commercial district. It was halfway across the city from the White Dragon, and Sanzo had broiled beneath his robes the entire way. Sanzo was willing to entertain the idea that Hakkai had put himself so far away from the docks on purpose. It pleased him to think this, and it took his mind off the sunburn that was undoubtedly developing on his scalp and across the bridge of his nose.

The building--wood, shabbily whitewashed--was sandwiched between a long, blind alley and a stationer's. Sanzo window-shopped, surreptitiously checking out the neighborhood. It was practically empty. No one was out on the streets, and hardly any noise filtered through the wood-and-brick canyons formed from the patchwork assortment of structures.

Sanzo walked slowly and deliberately toward the shop. He didn't look through the windows but, rather, made a beeline for the door. He half-hoped the shop would be closed, that the confrontation he expected would be put off. But, no. A neatly handwritten placard proclaimed the shop to be open. Sanzo could smell a particular smoky, leafy odor that made the tension drop unexpectedly away from his shoulders. It was tea. Real tea, brewing, the sort of tea he hadn't had since he'd left the monastery all those years ago. He frowned at the emotions that swept through him at that smell. Then, his thoughts darkened. It seemed he might have been expected.

He raised his hand to knock on the door but, before he touched it, it opened. Sanzo stared, unable to gather himself for a few long seconds. He hadn't expected to find the man he was looking for on the first try. And yet, here he was, in the flesh.

"Cho Hakkai," said Sanzo.

It was a ritual greeting, a perfunctory nod of the head, as if it hadn't been six years since they'd last met, as if they were something other than at cross purposes, as if Hakkai wasn't a wanted man, as if Sanzo didn't have orders regarding a certain criminal. As if, as if, as if. The circumstances that surrounded them were so strange. If Sanzo had believed in such things, he might have thought the hands of Fate were laid upon them.

"Sanzo," said Hakkai. "Please come in."

Gingerly avoiding a display of skeletal branches that crowded the doorway, Sanzo stepped inside. The interior of the store was muddy-brown and darkish. A murky sort of incense lingered in the air. He blinked and willed his eyes to adjust. And then, he wished, by and large, that he was still sun-dazzled and unable to see it properly.

"Charming," said Sanzo, eyeballing the room.

"Ah well," said Hakkai. "I suppose it could use a bit of improvement, maybe a little tidying up."

He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

Sanzo fingered a shelf filled with small skulls. Mice, maybe, though he was no expert in animal anatomy. They were far too small to be human. Sanzo snorted. If he'd thought Hakkai was out to murder more people, he wouldn't have let him go the last time. As it was, Hakkai had, to his knowledge, only killed one person between now and then. And Chin Yisou had had it coming. It was his own fault, if he'd been so careless as to allow Hakkai the opportunity.

"Please, sit down," said Hakkai.

His movements were stiff as he ushered Sanzo to a pair of chairs placed next to the fireplace. Sanzo raised an eyebrow at the dust ruffles. Hakkai flipped the store's sign so that the word closed could be seen by passersby. He locked the door and closed the curtains, one by one until the light in the room was provided only by the fire and a matched pair of oil lamps.

"Would you care for some tea, perhaps?" said Hakkai. "As you can see, I am not unprepared for your visit."

He gestured to the teakettle, steaming gently over the flames. The scent of tea permeated the air here, so close to the kettle.

"You've changed," said Sanzo. "You cut your hair."

It was the first thing he could think of to say that was anything close to a neutral topic of conversation. He inspected Hakkai more closely as Hakkai sat down.

"Ah, well, yes," said Hakkai. "It has been some time, hasn't it?"

He smiled, though his eyes were flat and he held his mouth tightly.

"You were worried someone was going to spot you," said Sanzo.

"I was quite recognizable, yes," said Hakkai. "Perhaps I was too hasty in getting the tattoos."

He sighed.

"But what is done is done," he said. "I'll carry them the rest of my life, I suppose."

Sanzo grabbed Hakkai's face by the chin and turned him toward the nearest lamp. Hakkai didn't fight him. At length, Sanzo let him go. He leaned back in the chair.

"You can still see them in the right light," said Sanzo. "Cosmetics or no."

"I know," said Hakkai. "Believe me, I know."

He patted his face carefully and examined his hands afterward.

"You didn't smudge it, did you?" said Hakkai. "I work quite hard on it and I do so hate to touch it up."

Sanzo pulled out a cigarette. He lit it. He smoked for a minute in silence, considered what to say next.

"Your face is fine," he said. "Though I don't know why you bother. No one's looking for you any more."

"Hmm," said Hakkai.

And with that, his face was smiling and friendly again.

"Tell me," Hakkai said. "How is Goku doing?"

Sanzo grunted.

"The same," he said. "Never changes. He's still a bottomless pit. He's out exploring your charming city right now, but I have to leave now if I'm going to avoid endless questions about what I did this afternoon."

He sipped the tea before him, and it scalded pleasantly as it went down. As soon as he'd emptied his cup, he stood.

"Thank you for the tea," Sanzo said. "I'll be seeing you again."

"Oh, I know," said Hakkai. "Isn't it remarkable, how we as a species are always looking for answers?"

Sanzo gave him a thoughtful look.

"You should stop writing those letters," said Sanzo. "And don't try to tell me you already have. Burn them. She's dead, Hakkai. Get over it."

In the middle of cleaning up from the abbreviated tea, Hakkai stopped cold.

"Then I suppose I can tell you to stop looking for your master's killer," said Hakkai. "You'll never recover what was stolen. To use your words, get over it."

Sanzo scowled. The sheer gall of this man…

"It's not the same thing at all," said Sanzo.

"Isn't it?" said Hakkai. "Isn't it?"

His smile was eerie, otherworldly. It was not friendly at all. Sanzo pinched out his cigarette between his fingers, not flinching as it burned into him. Hakkai's expression didn't change.

"I'm leaving," said Sanzo. "I will come back. And when I do, I want answers."

He crossed the shop to the front door, unlocking it. He didn't bother with the open sign.

"By the way," said Sanzo. "I'm not the only one looking for you. I believe you've met a halfbreed named Gojyo?"

The way Hakkai studied one wrist told him everything he needed to know.

"He's come to pay his debt," said Sanzo. "Let him, and then let him go."

Hakkai's laugh echoed around the room.

"I never had intentions otherwise," said Hakkai. "Though I hardly think you're one to talk of letting go."

And yet, his gaze lingered on the bracelet around his wrist.

Sanzo shook his head and exited the shop. They were idiots. Those two deserved each other. Gojyo had no idea what he was in for, dealing with that man. He'd never get Hakkai to give up the hold he had over him now. Even if Sanzo wished him luck, it wouldn't do a damn thing. Hakkai would never let the debt between them rest.

Sighing, Sanzo stared up at the deeply colored skies. It was time to meet Goku, his personal idiot, his own burden that wouldn't go away. Even if he was late, Goku would wait for him. Still, he'd probably just whine and complain even more if Sanzo did that, and he might even have the brains today to ask questions.

Sanzo hurried back the way he'd come.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it me, or have these chapters been getting longer, and longer? But now, with this chapter, a change of pace.

My dearest Kanaan,

I find myself settling in well here at court, though of course, as always, I miss you terribly. Perhaps you could come visit at some convenient date? The days here are busy, and my nights are filled with longing for you, for our own little house and our own shared bed. I am happy charting the stars, but sometimes I miss you so much, miss your voice, miss your laughter, miss your touch, that I am tempted to run away from all this to be with you again.

The people here are formal, polite, and cold. Even the cadre of academics I continually see are cold: to each other and even about their own disciplines. Remember when you gave me that spyglass, and we'd stay up nights, watching the stars move around us as we lay out on the hill beside our house? You'd always tease me the next day about the grass stains on our clothing. How I miss those days! I wish that I were back home, with you. My place is always by your side. Sometimes I wish you hadn't told me to come here, but Kanaan! The things I am learning! It would take more sheets of paper and more hours than there are in a day to describe it all for you.

I must go, my love. The hour approaches when I must make myself presentable and continue my work among my fellow scholars. I hope that you are well, and do not tire too much of my plaintive letters.

Love,

Your Gonou

 

My dearest Kanaan,

I met a strange man today, while traveling between the islands I now, reluctantly, call home. How I wish you were still here, still by my side… You would have liked him, I think, for all that he was strange. But then, you loved me, so some tolerance for the strange might be expected.

He was gentle, kind for all his rough exterior. I did not ask his business aboard ship, but I have my suspicions, given the way some of the crew looked at him. And he was, indeed, something to behold. Tall, tanned, with long red hair, redder than any I've seen. He had long strings of shells twined into it. It looked a bit barbaric, to tell the truth, but it suited him. There was a wildness in his face as he looked out over the ocean, too. Something about him drew me, and I felt helpless to resist.

He was brash with everyone, but, oh, Kanaan! He was so alive, laughing with other passengers, walking the deck like it was his to command, shouting insults at the sailors who approached him.

And then, like the fool that I am, I made his acquaintance.

He engaged me in a game of cards, played atop some of the cargo lashed to the deck. The movement of his hands was magnetic, and I lost myself for a time. He noticed the Tarot, your Tarot alongside my deck of playing cards. Perhaps I should have hidden it better, but I cannot help but think that it is safer that I carry it with me.

I found myself unable to refuse him when he asked me to use them. I read the cards for him. What I saw there scared me, scared me so badly that I'm afraid I did not react well. I found the unmodulated truth spilling out of my lips before I could stop myself. And, instead of brushing me off as any man would have had a right to do, this stranger took me seriously. He told me he owed me a debt now. He tore three hairs from his head, braided them into a bracelet around my wrist. His fingers were burning hot.

I know it seems strange, Kanaan, but everything about this meeting was strange. He told me it was a custom of his people, this token. He said that if I held the bracelet in salt water and called his name, he would come for me.

I wonder still who his people were.

 

I was quite insistent that he debark immediately, after he'd given me his vow. The things I'd seen were horrible, and I was afraid, so terribly afraid. But he simply smiled and laughed. We continued talking, though it was more him than me; I was a terrible conversationalist that day. But the sun warmed us through, and the breeze was light in our faces, and he, for all his strange ways and showy mannerisms, was gentle. Solicitous, even, inquiring after my health and offering to help me to my bed. I waved him away and he shrugged, made his excuses, and wandered off.

By then, the panic I'd felt had started to fade into discomfort, and the fear into unease. I decided that perhaps a bit of afternoon respite was in order. I went below deck to my room. And now, Kanaan, I must confess: I dreamed of him. I longed for him like nothing else on earth.

I dreamed and dreamed and dreamed.

I woke up and made haste to the deck, where I'd seen him last. The sunlight spilled like blood over the rails, painting everything in red. Red like his hair, like his eyes, like my dreams. But he was gone. My heart sank, and I felt a niggling unease begin to creep in again. I returned to my cabin.

I plunged my hand through the lone porthole there, without hesitation, as we rode low through the waves. I spoke his name. I waited, waited for hours until my arm grew numb and the waters dragged at me and and I was well-wearied of the discomforts I felt in my shoulders from holding such a position. I was half-blinded, waiting in the dark.

He never came.

Even now, I am unsure whether I was more afraid for Gojyo…or for myself.

 

Always yours,

Gonou


	14. Chapter 14

Gojyo was still good at gambling. He was relieved when his old skills came back to him so quickly; it'd been years since he'd played seriously, but the cards practically played themselves. With the aid of Sanzo's gold, it wasn't long before he had enough money to move from the main floor of the gambling parlor to one of the upstairs rooms. He was tempted to do so--a private game meant more money in the pot.

The night was still young, but when the serving girls fawned over him to excess and the other players gave him looks that promised retribution in a dark alley somewhere, he understood it was time to cash in and move on. The way the others stared at him gave Gojyo the creeps, no matter that he had little to fear from them. He was deadly with a blade in his hand, and no small shakes with just his hands, either. There was always the possibility that one of them was bright enough to organize a group of people, though, and Gojyo was well aware that sheer numbers could overwhelm a good fighter. He noticed the way a couple of the players were sitting, too. They carried pistols. Well shit. He'd have to cut his winning streak short before he got a couple new holes blasted through him for his trouble.

Grinning, Gojyo stood and held his arms out disarmingly.

"Think I'll call it a night," he said. "It's been fun, but I think I'll take my chances elsewhere."

He snagged one of the serving girls and passed her some of his winnings. She stared at it in her hand, blinked, and looked up at him with trepidation. She was pretty enough, Gojyo supposed, but wasn't interested in purchasing her service between the sheets. He didn't do paid, thank you, especially when her eyes kept flicking away nervously, landing on the man behind the bar as if he had some stake in the matter. She stirred his memory, agitated his thoughts, and the bad times started to rise up. Gojyo made himself smile at her, as friendly and polite as he could.

"It's not for you," he said. "It's for them."

He pointed at the table he'd just vacated. The girl relaxed somewhat.

"That ought to buy enough rounds for them that they won't remember me," Gojyo said. "Or, at least, if they do, it'll be to think of me fondly, and not as the guy who won the big pot."

She nodded and hurried away. Gojyo made his way over to the bar where he bought himself a drink from the unsmiling bartender. He shuddered even as he drank it. The house ale was thin, sour, and watered down to within an inch of its life. Not for the first time, Gojyo wished humans weren't so goddamn greedy. It wouldn't kill them to make the beer suck less and charge more for it. But then, every single one of them wanted everything to come cheap and plentiful. Gojyo snorted and watched the table he'd been at. They all cheered when the serving girl came over with two others, each of them bearing trays loaded down with booze. Perfect examples, right there. He finished his drink and slipped, unnoticed, out the front door.

Stepping into the darkened streets, Gojyo was unsurprised to find it rather crowded. This city came alive at night, just like…he cut himself off. He didn't have time to get bogged down in memory. He shook his head to clear it and told himself that this city was nothing like that other. And it wasn't, not really. It was noisier here, and better lit. And there wasn't a single soul he could see that he recognized. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Gojyo wandered the streets, crisscrossing from one area to another with the ease of a native. His afternoon had been well spent, it seemed. He frowned again. He wondered again if that had been his green eyed man. It could have been. Without conscious decision, he found himself retracing his steps, as if by that act alone he might summon the man from his memories. As he made his way along the commercial streets, he started to feel a bit odd. A little loose, disconnected. He walked a few more steps and realized, all of a sudden, that he felt very, very warm.

As the street twisted beneath him and he struggled to stay upright, Gojyo put two and two together.

"Well shit," he said. "Goddamn house always wins."

He knew he shouldn't have had that beer. And he shouldn't have played for so long at that one place, either. And maybe, just maybe, he should have paid for the extras that wench had been offering. They probably hadn't expected him to last this long, and he doubted they'd be searching very far for him, so that was something, anyway. No angry gambling den owner-barkeep-wench types coming to pick his pockets and maybe rough him up. He smiled to himself and tried to find his footing on the cobbles.

Gojyo stumbled hard and smacked his shoulder against a building. He took a long minute, studying the contents of the window: quills, paper, ink… It was a whatsits. A stay- something. Gojyo struggled with his thoughts, but the kind of shop eluded him, even as its wares danced before his eyes.

He leaned against the glass. It was nice and cool on his face, which was hot, hot, hot. He felt the glass getting slick with his sweat. Gojyo exhaled and watched fog form around his mouth. And then he noticed something was moving in the reflection on the glass. More than one something. He turned around and the world spun with him.

"Shit," he said, grinning and not particularly surprised. "You guys."

Inside, with what little of his mind that wasn't swimming in the drugged beer, he panicked. Maybe he hadn't gotten as far from the gambling den as he'd thought, because Gojyo recognized quite a few faces: he'd just fleeced some of the men before him. His legs started to give, and he slid down to the ground.

"He's almost out," one of them said. "Let's get to it!"

The group of men crowded forward, some with fists raised, others with knives and clubs. Gojyo's senses swirled unpleasantly and he closed his eyes and turned his head to one side, trying not to be sick. He groped for his knife, but his fingers weren't working right and the hilt kept slipping through his grasp.

A boot connected with his ribs and then he really did vomit, all over the offending foot. An enraged cry came from his attacker, and the boot returned with friends. Pain lanced through him, and Gojyo struggled to breathe in a way that didn't send fire racing along his sides. He crawled backward a few precious inches.

Having had his eyes closed both for concentration and against the vertigo, Gojyo rammed his spine into something hard before long. As he gasped for air, he hoped he hadn't broken anything. A quick look told him it was a stone doorstep.

"Where's the money?"

"I don't know. Search him!"

Rough hands raked over him and Gojyo curled away from them, but pairs of hands dragged at him, stretching him out and wrenching his arms as the search continued. Someone yanked hard on his hair, and the pain in his scalp made the haze over his thoughts even worse.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," said a voice. "Is there some sort of problem?"

Gojyo froze, all of his scrambling thoughts coming to a halt. That voice…

"You wanna be next? Scram!"

The hands left Gojyo where he was, and feet shuffled around him, maybe even stepped over him. He couldn't be sure of anything. For a minute, Gojyo thought he was back underwater, watching the sharks circling a blood trail. He shook himself and immediately wished he hadn't. Everything down to his teeth hurt, for all that he hadn't taken a hit to the face. Gojyo cracked his eyes open and his sight swam. A tall figure stood between his would-be robbers.

"It seems I have no choice," said the man.

He turned his head over his shoulder. Gojyo drowned in the green of his eyes.

"You might not wish to watch this, Gojyo," said the green-eyed man. "I apologize in advance."

Twin knives appeared in the man's hands. They glittered like stars.

"But y--" said Gojyo.

"Later," said the man.

It sounded like a promise.

"Okay," said Gojyo.

The man turned back to face the crowd.

"So sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen," said the green-eyed man. "Shall we?"

Gojyo closed his eyes. Someone shouted, and the noise cut off with a gurgle. Something warm and wet splashed Gojyo's cheek, and he tried not to flinch. It trickled down his jaw. He lay, prone, the earth spinning furiously beneath him, thoughts darting away like fish. The noise of the fight no longer registered in his ears and, as the full effects of the drug stole over him, one lone thought stayed with him. He'd found the green-eyed man. His green-eyed man.

Green eyes followed Gojyo all the way down into nothingness.


	15. Chapter 15

Hakkai didn't bother to hide the bodies. Instead, he sat for a time on the front steps, next to Gojyo's head. He wiped his knives onto the hem of his shirt with some consideration, then sheathed them. He glanced at the bodies sprawled in the street. Five. Five bodies. In the dark, they almost looked like sacks of grain, if you didn't notice the dark pools slowly creeping outward from each one. Hakkai sighed.

For once, he was almost glad about the lack of a proper guard force in this city. Even if no one came to check on these people--and Hakkai had little doubt that whoever had encouraged them to this would not--it was unlikely that anyone would ask questions. There would be no investigation and no charges. The bodies would simply be carted off and disposed of accordingly. That was really all the guardsmen of this city had proved themselves to be: able draymen.

Hakkai looked down at Gojyo. Oh dear. He would need healing. Hakkai licked his thumb and ran it over the blood that had splashed on his face, slowly rubbing it off. He frowned. The scars on Gojyo's cheek were fresh, still healing. They had been old scars when they'd met for the first time. Hakkai wondered what had happened to this man since then. He stroked Gojyo's hair without thought, caught himself, and stopped.

"I suppose I ought to take you inside," said Hakkai.

He smiled to himself. Silly of him to expect a response. From the look of it, it would be some time before Gojyo woke up, and even then he might not be in any condition to make good conversation. He caught Gojyo at the shoulders. Hakkai nudged the door behind him with one foot, and it swung open. He dragged Gojyo inside.

While Hakkai didn't relish the idea of getting him up the stairs, it couldn't be helped. It would undoubtedly be unsettling to wake up on the shop's main floor. Hakkai himself had dozed off at the counter once or twice; waking there amid the relics had been unpleasant, and he'd known where he was. No, it was best to get Gojyo up the stairs and into the bed. Hakkai stopped for a second. His bed. His bed would need clean sheets for Gojyo. And he'd need to heat some water to bathe him and to clean his wounds, which meant a trip to the cistern in the back garden, and then…

 

Hakkai propped Gojyo up against the sales counter and went back to close and lock the front door. One step at a time. First, he'd get Gojyo up the stairs. He could lay him on the bedroom floor for now, put a pillow under his head. Then, he could strip the bed and take off Gojyo's clothing and give him a proper examination. Hakkai's heart kicked up, beating uncomfortably fast at that.

He tried to tell himself it was just nervousness. Hakkai had not forgotten what he had seen when he had read the cards for Gojyo, and it was clearly affecting his judgment. Yes, it was anxiety he felt for this man, over this man, and nothing more. Hakkai focused on the task at hand. He got hold of Gojyo and continued across the shop.

After he'd examined Gojyo, he would fetch water and heat it; a larger kettle for bathing him, and a smaller one to boil for whatever medicines he might need to use. Hakkai wasn't certain what sort of injuries his guest might have. He had taken a beating, it was true, but did he have broken ribs? Had he been cut? Hakkai suspected a concussion, and there was precious little he could do for that, save a draught for the pain Gojyo would feel on waking.

Hakkai pulled Gojyo up the stairs as gently as he could. It wasn't easy not to pull on the long, scarlet hair that trailed perilously close to where Hakkai was stepping. He made a note to himself to wash Gojyo's hair as well, and perhaps braid it to keep it out of harm's way. He'd done so often enough for Kanaan. His heart squeezed tight at that comparison. Hakkai shied away from similarly painful thoughts and focused on something safe.

He would have to do laundry too. Hakkai could put their clothing to soak in cold water when he went to the cistern; it wouldn't hurt the bloodstains any to have to wait, and the soaking would help later on when he could scrub and wash them properly.

He nodded to himself and glanced down at Gojyo. He could barely make out the man's features in the dark. Gently, he laid him down next to the bedroom door. Hakkai opened the door. He lit the small kerosene lamp on the desk and turned down the flame as low as he could without drowning it. Then, he got a pillow and set it on the floor. Hakkai ducked back out into the hall.

Once again, Hakkai grasped Gojyo by the shoulders and dragged him along the floor. He cradled his head and eased it down onto the waiting pillow. There. Hakkai sat for a minute on the foot of the bed, observing his guest. Though he hadn't stirred the entire time, his chest moved steadily up and down with his breath. Hakkai had a moment where he felt compelled to get down close and listen to him breathe, to listen to his heart beat. It was absurd and he dismissed the urge. Instead, he set himself the task of undressing Gojyo.

First, he eased off the boots. They came off with suspicious clinking noises. Hakkai felt around inside the left one. Sure enough, his fingers met coins, slipped between the inside layers of the sole. He smiled. Then would-be robbers weren't very bright, it seemed. A pity Hakkai had had to kill them. His smile slipped.

He unfastened Gojyo's belt and slid it out from around his waist. Hakkai set it aside with the boots. There was nothing he could do to take the stains out of the leather, but it was a dark enough finish that, hopefully, no one would notice. Then, he tugged at Gojyo's shirt, untucking it from the waist of his pants. He slid the fabric up along Gojyo's arms, first, and then eased his head through the neck of it. He pulled the shirt off. Hakkai carefully avoided the expanse of Gojyo's chest, not ready yet to look. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

Hakkai stared for some minutes at Gojyo's pants. His stomach roiled whenever he thought of taking them off. The clinical side of him scoffed at this hesitation. If Gojyo's legs were injured…He could just cut them off, he supposed. But Gojyo was taller than he, and if this were Gojyo's only pair of pants, he'd have nothing to wear, and Hakkai would have to go and purchase new ones, which would be highly awkward. He shook himself. He could do this.

Hakkai tried tugging on the cuffs of the legs. The pants slid down an inch or so, but caught around Gojyo's narrow hips. Hakkai frowned. He'd have to unbutton them. Hakkai felt a flush rise up the back of his neck. Still, his fingers were steady as they worked at the top two buttons of the pants. He noted distantly that there were eight buttons in total, marching down from waist to groin. Hakkai hoped that he wouldn't need to unbutton them all.

As soon as he'd unfastened the two buttons, he snatched his hands away as if Gojyo were a hot kettle. Hakkai tried to convince himself that this was acceptable behavior; Gojyo could have injuries at his waist, after all, and it wouldn't do to agitate them. Hakkai pulled at the legs of the pants again. They slid another inch and stuck again. He let out a little laugh, born of frustration. This was ridiculous. His nervousness was uncalled for. Gojyo's body was just another body in need of his healing skills, and that was all.

Hakkai kept this thought firmly in the forefront of his mind as he eased his fingers between Gojyo and the pants. He couldn't entirely suppress the warmth that crept up and around from his neck to his face, just as he couldn't rid his fingers of the sensation of touching, here and there, Gojyo's warm skin. It was unavoidable; Gojyo's pants fit him like a glove, and Hakkai was forced to peel back the fabric little by little, working it off with absolute care. Perhaps he went a hair more slowly than necessary, but it was all in Gojyo's best interests.

At last, Hakkai slid the pants down and off. Hakkai took a deep, shaky breath. He set the clothing to the side. He forced himself to be as professional as possible as he looked at Gojyo. Dark, muddy bruises had risen all over his skin, concentrated particularly on his ribs. Cautiously, Hakkai pressed his fingers against the worst of the wounds.

Even unconscious, Gojyo let out a little noise of pain. Hakkai felt carefully along the length of each side. Gojyo groaned and stirred, but did not wake. Hakkai found himself biting his lip in sympathy. Still, he was relieved not to feel anything broken. Cracked, maybe, and definitely bruised and tender as evidenced by Gojyo's pain, but nothing obviously broken.

Other than that, it seemed Gojyo was in good health. His skin was smooth and firm, and Hakkai decided there probably wasn't an ounce of fat on him: Hakkai's explorations told him that Gojyo was very strong, with muscles like rocks beneath the surface.

Hakkai carefully brushed the hair out of Gojyo's face. He traced the forehead, along the bridge of the nose. He followed the jaw line, fingertips rasping against the faint stubble there. Hakkai bent in close to Gojyo's face and studied the raised scars on his cheek. Though the scar tissue appeared new, there was something odd about it. Hakkai removed his monocle, hoping that might help him see more closely. He held Gojyo's face carefully in his hands and turned him toward the light. There was new scar tissue in the middle of each of the lines, shining and pink, surrounded on each side by a thin band of old. Hakkai frowned. There was no way both tissues were from the same wounds. It looked as though new scars overlaid the old. He couldn't begin to imagine how that had happened. He stroked over Gojyo's cheek, thinking.

"Hmm," said Hakkai.

The sound of his own voice, reaching into the silence, surprised him. He stared at his hands, still touching Gojyo's face. What was he doing? He blinked a few times to clear his head. He set Gojyo's head back onto the pillow. He settled his monocle back into place, stood, and stretched. Hakkai had spent more than enough time woolgathering. It was time to deal with other things, time to move forward with his immediate plans. He would come back to Gojyo soon enough. He stroked the bracelet around his wrist, pushing it around and around, enjoying the texture of the hairs against his skin. It was difficult to force himself to leave.

Gathering the sheets in one arm and Gojyo's dirty clothing in the other, Hakkai hesitated again. What if Gojyo got cold in the meantime? Hakkai stood, thinking, laundry bundled into his arms. Perhaps he had better lay a blanket over him, just in case. He shifted his burden into one arm and, with the other, snagged a blanket off the bed. Hakkai draped it over Gojyo, making sure to cover him all the way from his feet to his shoulders. Gojyo would be warm enough like that, he hoped.

Hakkai tiptoed across the floor, slipped out of the room, and pulled the door to. He set the laundry down. It occurred to him somewhat belatedly that his own clothing was probably more in need of a wash than Gojyo's. He looked down at the shirt he wore and sighed in dismay. It was going to take a lot of scrubbing to get out the stains. Hakkai stripped in the hallway. He frowned when the shirt stuck to his abdomen; the scar there was bloody again, and Hakkai struggled to convince himself that it wasn't his blood that dyed the skin red, that it wasn't Gojyo's blood either.

Then, Hakkai caught all the clothing up again and headed down the stairs. He would give himself a quick scrub in the yard while he was at it, and that would take care of the problem. He sighed, relieved to have planned things so neatly.

As he entered the back garden, Hakkai rehearsed the order of things in his head. Set the laundry to soak, wash himself, draw water to heat, wash and treat Gojyo, make the bed, put Gojyo in the bed to rest. Hakkai would lay himself down on the floor with a blanket and pillow. And in the morning, well…

Hakkai piled the laundry into a washtub and slid it under the cistern pump, mind elsewhere. He didn't know exactly what would happen then. Would his guest awake on his own? Hakkai thought, briefly, of the concussion he suspected Gojyo had. Maybe once he had settled Gojyo in bed, he ought to try to wake him. The anxiety that had crept into him eased somewhat. Yes. All he needed to do was get Gojyo to open his eyes, that would be good enough, and then they could both sleep.

Hakkai pushed his thoughts aside and worked the pump, up and down, up and down, up and down, water gushing out in rhythm with his work. He filled the washtub and pushed it aside. There. That could wait until after he'd taken care of his guest.

He splashed water over himself, skin contracting with the cold. Hakkai scrubbed at himself with his hands, and the stains on his skin gradually faded away. He skimmed the excess water off with his hands, having forgotten a towel. The water blurred what he could see through his monocle, distorted even further what he could see.

For some time, Hakkai stood and stared up into the sky, dripping and shivering and alone in the dark.


	16. Chapter 16

Hakkai lay down to sleep far into the night. By the time he had tucked Gojyo into the freshly made bed, it was quite late. It had been some hours since the stars had come out, and now they were fully bright and shone in through the curtains that hung across the window.

Hakkai kept drifting in and out of sleep, experiencing the same disorientation every time he tipped back toward consciousness. In a more lucid moment between snatches of sleep, he thought how strange it was that such a small change could translate into such a difference in perspective. He was on the floor next to the bed; he was, perhaps, three feet from his usual sleeping space. But now, everything looked strange. The shadows thrown by the furniture were different. The nighttime noises he heard were distorted. And, strangest of all, were the slight sounds Gojyo made. It was almost frightening, waking up in the dark, fully expecting to be alone, and then to hear someone else there, someone else breathing in the night air.

He didn't sleep well.

Rising shortly before dawn, Hakkai was still tired. At first he tried to convince himself that he could stay in bed for just a minute more. But Gojyo stirred in the bed above his head, and Hakkai gave a start. He realized then that he had things to do, things that Gojyo shouldn't have to see. Hakkai got up quietly. He folded the blanket and put it and the pillow out of the way. He fetched clothing from the armoire, and a towel.

Hakkai sneaked out of the room and went downstairs across the hall into the kitchen. He closed and bolted the doors shut. Hakkai stoked the fire and, after a quick trip to the cistern, hung a kettle of water to heat. He laid his nightclothes neatly over the back of a chair. While he waited for hot water, he got out a small box of soap and a cloth, and set up the tin washtub next to the hearth.

He dipped the cloth in the lukewarm water, and then scraped a bit of soap onto it. Hakkai lathered the cloth. He stepped into the tub.

He scrubbed himself laboriously, removing the remaining traces of yesterday. His impromptu wash the night before hadn't been especially effective, it seemed. Soon enough, though, he was clean from the shoulders down. He shivered in the still-chill morning air. Hakkai rinsed his cloth and soaped it up again. Now he concentrated on his face and neck. He washed away the remains of yesterday's cosmetic applications, soaping and scrubbing until nothing showed on the washcloth. Hakkai winced to himself; normally fastidious, he'd forgotten to do so before going to bed. Still, yesterday had been quite unusual, and forgetting once wouldn't be harmful.

When he felt he was clean, Hakkai rinsed with the water, now hot enough to emit curls of steam. The dirty water collected in the washtub. He toweled off, perfunctory, and stepped out in front of the fire, letting his toes warm on the hearth.

Hakkai pulled on a pair of pants and buttoned them up the front. He tried not to think too hard about the similarities the action bore to what he'd done for Gojyo last night. It was rather a failed effort.

Hakkai fetched a small key, hanging on a nail by the kitchen door. He unlocked an equally small lock on the only locked cupboard in the room. He hung the key up again. Opening the cupboard door, Hakkai shied away from the mirror that hung on the inside of it. Even so, out of the corner of his eyes, he caught sight of the tattoos that crept up from his torso, over his neck and onto his face. He sighed. More mistakes to correct, even though all he could do was palliative, at this point.

He removed a tray from the cupboard and set it onto the counter. Several tins and bottles lay on it, along with a few paintbrushes that had cost the earth, considering they were made not with horsehair or boar bristles, but with fine, delicate camel hairs. Hakkai sighed again. It was all worth it, though. He needed them, needed this. He reached for the largest tin and a piece of sponge that lay beside the brushes.

Meticulous and slow, Hakkai covered up his tattoos with cosmetics. As he worked and as the markings faded away, he looked into the mirror more and more frequently. Something tight in his chest eased as he painted over the inked lines. He covered anything that his shirt would leave bare. He even took the time to make sure the backs of his hands were reduced to blank slates again. Hakkai finished up quickly, brushing a final layer of powder over the top, to help prevent smudging. He glanced in the mirror. The man who stared back was perfect. Hakkai replaced the tray in the cupboard.

Then, as he always did this time of year, he took stock of the contents of the cupboard. The finished cosmetics were running low, as was his supply of powdered lead. At least he had enough chalk and pigments to make a new batch, though. He sighed, thinking ahead to when he'd need to mix up more makeup.

Getting the lead would take some weeks. Hakkai would have to fetch it himself this year; his usual supplier had been killed recently, and he had had no time to find a new one. He calculated expenses, again. There was the price of passage, both ways, and money for bribes, and for the lead itself which would almost undoubtedly involve haggling, a process which he disliked immensely.

Hakkai gave the cosmetic supplies one last look, locked the cupboard up again, and hung the key on the nail for the second time. He put on his clean shirt, careful not to let the fabric touch the makeup. He put away the soap and dumped the bathwater into the sink, where it gurgled slowly down the drain. He opened the kitchen doors again.

Hakkai crept upstairs. He put away his nightclothes and hung his towel to dry. A quick look at Gojyo showed that the man was still sleeping, and so Hakkai left the room just as quietly as he had the first time. There would be plenty of time, later, to try and rouse him. Again, a shiver racked Hakkai, and he thought it was probably a good idea to avoid Gojyo for now. He tried to convince himself that it was more important to launder his guest's clothing, anyway, than to hang around at his bedside, waiting for him to wake.

Going back downstairs, Hakkai was surprised to see that the sun had already come up over the horizon. It was nearly time to open shop, and he still had so much to do. He had laundry to wash and hang, and breakfast to make. He had to try to wake Gojyo and, if necessary, attempt further treatment of his wounds. Making a mental list, Hakkai added one more item to the morning's agenda. The goose.

Every year, Hakkai raised and slaughtered a goose. He cared for it, fattened it, fed it from his hand. And every year, on the anniversary of his beloved's death, he killed it. Then he rendered the fat and kept it for the base of his cosmetics. There were many reasons to go through such a laborious process, but perhaps the best, most sane of the lot was that it gave him something to do besides count the years as he lived his life on this island, so far from the land of his birth.

This was the sixth goose now, and it was happy and unaware of its fate as it grew fat in the small back garden. But Hakkai knew the approaching hour, as it were, felt it clenching tightly around his heart. All too soon another year would slip beyond him, taking more of his memories with it. With her.

He crossed to the back door, thought he ought to spend some time with the goose. He could keep an eye on it and do the wash at the same time. It would be an efficient use of his time. He scooped up a handful of dry corn from a nearby sack and smiled to himself. The goose would enjoy this treat. He turned to the back door.

Hakkai froze. A mahjong tile lay on the threshold, a neat, white shape against the darkness of the door. It read "destruction." He kicked it out of the way. Hakkai walked past, spine stiff, the smile still affixed to his face. The back of his neck prickled. Gojyo would be safe, wouldn't he?

A deep, pervasive ache started in Hakkai's right eye, spreading outward until half his face was swallowed by the sensation. For a moment, the impulse to run back upstairs and check on him was overwhelming, but it passed. Gojyo was safe. When Sanzo returned, Hakkai could ask him to take a look at the mahjong tiles. There. Problem solved. He knuckled his eye, but the pain did not lessen, even as he willed it to.

Hakkai breathed deeply. He loosened his grip on the door, walked through, and shut it tight. He yanked on the handle once, just to be sure it wouldn't spring open again as soon as he'd turned his back. The door didn't budge. He considered opening it and shutting it again, more firmly this time. He thought of the tile on the other side. At last, he let himself turn away.

"Coward," he said. "You coward."

Hakkai smiled sharply and left the door as it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the worst time trying to come to a stopping point for this chapter! I'm just glad I found one, or this could have gone on for forever...As it was, this chapter was a somewhat unexpected detour. I'd planned to skip ahead to when Gojyo wakes up, but I'm happy now that I did this first. (I'm starting to be a little worried that Hakkai's coming off super-duper crazy. I just hope I'll be able to show off his awesome-cool side as well!)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no see. I'm trying to get back on track with all the things I'm working on, and I'm really pleased to have finished this chapter at long last. I'm afraid I don't have much else to say, except enjoy!

It was a combination of the sun shining in his face and the incessant, mad honking of a goose that finally woke Gojyo. He knew two things almost immediately: he was thirsty, and he could really use a trip to the privy.

Cracking open his eyes, Gojyo froze. H didn't know where he was. He took stock of the room he found himself in--the bed; the wardrobe; the cluttered desk; the small window; the closed door. He recognized none of it. And then pain hammered its way through his body and into his awareness.

"Oww," he said. "Ow ow ow."

But he paused, the pain not as bad as he'd expected, considering what he could remember of the night before. He eased himself up, stiff. A quick peek under the covers showed that someone had bandaged him up. It wasn't something he'd get from the men who'd beaten him down, that was for sure. His memories were pretty hazy; he remembered stumbling around, and somehow, between that and getting jumped, he'd ended up here. The green-eyed man, maybe? Where, exactly, was here?

A polite knock came on the door. Gojyo looked around for something he could defend himself with, if necessary, but he doubted that anything within reach would do. What would he do with a quill pen? Scratch and then tickle a would-be attacker? It rankled, but he eased back down, held himself still, and feigned sleep. The door creaked opened.

Soft footsteps came closer and closer, and a cool hand brushed across his forehead. Gojyo couldn't help flinching away from it. He opened his eyes and was met with green, green, green. Gojyo blinked and focused.

"I thought you might be awake," said the man. "At least, I had hoped…"

"It's you," said Gojyo. "Isn't it?"

He drank in the green eyes and dark hair and the way the green-eyed man glanced down at his hands every time he paused while speaking.

"Oh?" said the man. "Were you expecting to see someone else, Gojyo?"

Gojyo frowned, trying to remember.

"I never did get your name," said Gojyo. "But I gave you mine. Aboard that ship, wasn't it?"

The green-eyed man hesitated again, then held out his hand.

"My name is Hakkai," he said. "Pleased to make your acquaintance…again."

The way his name sounded coming from this man's--no, Hakkai's--lips made him shiver. He tried to tell himself it was an effect of the debt he was here to pay. His eyes were drawn to the red bracelet Hakkai wore. Hakkai looked down as well. He withdrew his hand.

"Yes, well, there is that," said Hakkai. "But if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to check your wounds first."

"Thanks," said Gojyo. "You know, for last night."

"You're quite welcome," said Hakkai. "Though I was surprised to find you on my doorstep, I admit."

The smile he gave Gojyo, while bright, was very, very fake. He pulled back the covers perfunctorily. And then there was that hesitation again, as if he didn't know what to do next, now that Gojyo's bandage body was exposed.

"Want me to sit up, or what?" said Gojyo.

"Hmm?" said Hakkai. "Oh. Yes, that would probably best."

He held out one arm to Gojyo, and Gojyo was surprised to find he needed the support to stay upright. He felt himself gingerly for the ends of the bandages, twisting into a position that made his sides scream, made him break into a cold sweat.

"Please don't," said Hakkai. "I wouldn't want you to be hurt further."

He reached his free hand around and, in a move that felt like an awkward hug to Gojyo, loosened the bandages.

"I tucked the ends in on the back," said Hakkai. "I didn't want you to undo them by accident."

There was an apologetic cast to his face. Gojyo inferred also that Hakkai didn't want him running away; he hadn't wanted him to undo the bandages on purpose either. Considering his relatively recent escape from the creature, Gojyo found it strange that he wasn't frightened by this confinement. After all, the beast had used bandages as well, if Gojyo's body hadn't held up under… Gojyo cut himself off and made himself smile at Hakkai.

"So," said Gojyo. "Yeah. Uhm. Examination time."

He held still as Hakkai's hands moved over his body. They were, thankfully, warm now, dry and gentle as they prodded his wounds. Still, Gojyo saw stars when Hakkai brushed over his ribs. He sucked in air and froze when that movement made it even worse. Hakkai frowned.

"Definitely cracked," said Hakkai. "It will hurt when I wrap you up again."

Gojyo hardly felt the various bruises and scrapes after that; his concentration had focused in on his sides. However, when Hakkai's hands started carding through his hair and caressed his scalp in a way that bordered on non-medical, his attention was again drawn outward.

He studied the man in front of him: brilliant green eyes, one shadowed by a corrective glass; unremarkable dark brown hair; a vulnerable throat at which his pulse fluttered steadily; long fingers; skin made pale by cosmetics. Gojyo wondered what Hakkai was hiding underneath it. A flash of red caught his eye: the bracelet.

"We need to talk," said Gojyo.

"Hmm?" said Hakkai.

Gojyo caught him around the wrist, trapping the bracelet between his hand and Hakkai's.

"About this," said Gojyo.

"I don't see why it can't wait," said Hakkai. "Perhaps you might wish to bathe before I finish your care?"

"Hakkai," said Gojyo.

"I could bring up a basin," said Hakkai. "It might be easier than trying to get you downstairs."

"Hakkai," said Gojyo, a little louder this time.

The pulse under his fingers sped up, though Hakkai's voice remained steady.

"I'm afraid you'll have to make do with some of my clothing," said Hakkai. "I've washed yours, but they're nowhere near dry."

The way Hakkai became so irretrievably absorbed in his planning made Gojyo shiver. But, at the same time, Hakkai was so solicitous and mild that Gojyo didn't have the heart to yell. He didn't seem like he'd hurt a fly and yet…last night, he'd been…

"Hey, Hakkai," said Gojyo. "What happened to those guys last night?"

This at least seemed to get Hakkai's attention.

"The city guards came and took them away," said Hakkai. "I hardly had to do a thing."

Hakkai smiled at him.

"After all," he said. "I was quite busy looking after you."

No matter how Gojyo tried after that, Hakkai refused to talk about anything other than cleaning Gojyo up--properly this time--and making sure he was comfortable during his convalescence. Gojyo could feel himself healing already. Being on land, he couldn't draw on the strength of his underwater form, which would have accelerated the healing. As it was, he'd have to spend two or three days taking it easy. Too bad. But maybe he'd be able to use that time to get Hakkai to tell him what he wanted, something that would satisfy the debt between them.

Gojyo allowed Hakkai to bathe him and dab weird-smelling herbal messes on various parts of him, thinking all the while. His thoughts stuttered a little when Hakkai wrapped his ribs, which hurt, but he already felt a little better compared to when he'd woken.

A polite cough interrupted his thoughts even further.

"I don't mean to pry," said Hakkai. "But are you upset with me?"

There was an air of concern about Hakkai, and hesitance as well. Hakkai busied himself putting away the leftovers of his doctoring. Gojyo could see he'd hurt this man, though he wasn't really sure how.

"I was just thinking," said Gojyo. "It's nothing important."

He looked around the room for something they might safely talk about. Might as well start at the beginning, huh?

"So, uh," said Gojyo. "Where am I?"

Hakkai smiled, then, and something softened in his eyes.

"You're in my bed," said Hakkai.

Gojyo told himself it was just surprise and…and…nervousness at being caught flat-footed that heated up his cheeks.

"I'm guessing this is your house," said Gojyo. "In my experience, rented rooms aren't this nice."

Hakkai nodded.

"It is my home, yes, and it's above my shop," he said. "I suppose we might manage a tour, if you'd like."

"As long as that tour includes a stop at the privy," said Gojyo.

Hakkai's face changed again, then, and even through the cosmetics he looked a little flushed.

"I apologize," he said. "I've been a most negligent host, to not have considered…"

Gojyo shrugged it off. Why this man was getting so worked up about it, he didn't know. Still, he felt the urge to try and smooth over Hakkai's distress.

"It's okay," he said. "Really. Just lead me to it, and then I'll look around all you want."

"All right," said Hakkai, and he sounded more composed now.

Hakkai took Gojyo's arm and held him steady while he slid out of the bed. The room spun for a minute, then settled. Gojyo grinned at Hakkai.

"Hard part's over," he said. "And all it took was a back-alley beating."

The sidelong look Hakkai gave Gojyo, discreetly checking on him, made Gojyo want to laugh. He was fine, really he was. For the first time in days--weeks, even--he felt optimistic. He hadn't been caught by the creatures that served the beast, he'd found the green-eyed man, and Gojyo was positive he'd be able to pay his debt soon. It was enough to convince him that things were finally looking up.


	18. Chapter 18

Sanzo didn't wake the morning after they'd disembarked until some firm knocking on the door startled him awake. He reached reflexively for the pistol under his pillow. The knocking came again.

"What is it?" he said.

He rolled onto his back and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. He blinked and the room came into focus enough for him to discern that, yet again, Goku had gotten up in the middle of the night and installed himself in Sanzo's bed. Sanzo frowned. He didn't wake the boy.

The door swung open, and a chambermaid came in with a tray of breakfast. She smiled at the pair of them, mouthed "your son is so cute!" while pointing at Goku, and deposited the tray on the room's only table. Sanzo scowled at her: why did everyone assume that Goku was his son? They didn't look the least bit related. He sighed and waved her away with one hand. The maid beamed at the pair of them as she left. Only then did Sanzo let go of his hold on his gun.

Goku snorted into his pillow and thrashed around a bit. Sanzo rolled his eyes. Goku was at least as noisy asleep as awake. Still, there was that tray of rapidly-cooling breakfast over there… Sanzo nudged Goku hard with one foot.

"Goku, wake up," he said.

Nothing.

Sanzo got out of the bed and dressed, keeping an eye on Goku all the while. He didn't stir to wakefulness, not even when Sanzo lifted his head off the pillow to retrieve his gun. Out of patience at last, Sanzo pulled all the covers off the bed, leaving Goku exposed to the air. Goku shivered and one of his eyes cracked open.

"Sanzo?" he said. "Morning?"

He yawned mightily. Then, it seemed that the smell of breakfast hit him because his eyes opened wide and he scrambled to get out of bed. He made a beeline for the table.

"This looks so good!" said Goku. "Look, there's sausage and bacon and eggs and juice and toast and butter and jam and…whatever that stuff in the bowl is. That looks boring."

Goku settled down at the table, eyes bright and shining and looking disturbingly alert, for all that he'd been asleep less than five minutes before.

Sanzo inspected the breakfast tray with distaste. This part of the world was heavy on greasy, fried things, and most of it he wouldn't eat if you paid him. The bowl of cooked grains that Goku had passed over looked all right, though. He picked it up and spooned in a mouthful. It was a mix of oats and wheat. Boring, true, but much more palatable than a heap of meats with congealing grease. Sanzo sat down with his breakfast. He tried not to watch Goku inhale the rest of the tray's contents, as it reminded him of all the slop Goku had eaten on board the ship. Sanzo sorted through his breakfast and was relieved not to find tentacles.

"So what're we doing today?" Goku said, around a mouthful of eggs.

Not wanting to see Goku's half-chewed breakfast, Sanzo looked away as he answered.

"We're going to investigate," said Sanzo.

"Investigate?" said Goku.

He left the pile of eggs, momentarily, in favor of the bacon. Sanzo winced at the ensuing crunching. While he ate a few spoonfuls of his own breakfast, he composed his thoughts. Long experience had taught him that Goku was capable of asking enough questions to drive a person mad before he lost interest in the subject at hand. Sanzo wanted to be prepared for the onslaught. After a minute or two, he spoke.

"I want to know more about Hakkai and the life he leads here," said Sanzo.

"But you already know where he lives," said Goku. "Why don't you just ask him?"

Sanzo felt like cuffing the boy. He settled for a withering glare.

"That's not the point," said Sanzo. "If I go back to the Sanbutsushin and say 'everything's fine, I've been reassured by the mass murderer in question' I'm going to get in a lot of trouble."

"But…" said Goku.

Sanzo cut him off with the shake of his head. Really, Goku was hopeless. Had he learned nothing in the years Sanzo had looked after him? Irritation wash over Sanzo. It was useless to carry out this same argument over and over. In the end, what counted were Sanzo's orders, not his personal feelings--assuming he had any, that is--about the matter.

"The official reason for our journey is to determine whether or not Hakkai is dangerous," said Sanzo. "I can't take him at his word for that. Even if I believed his innocence, no one else would."

"Oh," said Goku.

There. Sanzo pushed back from the table with satisfaction. Perhaps he'd won the argument, finally. It seemed Goku was starting to understand. Regardless of Hakkai's behavior here, regardless of what their investigation turned up, Hakkai would be brought back to their homeland to be tried and sentenced for his crimes. Those were Sanzo's instructions and he would follow them to the letter. No one, not even Goku, was going to stop him.

"So we investigate and then act accordingly," said Sanzo. "And that will be the end of it."

"But what about your questions?" said Goku.

"They can wait," said Sanzo.

Discomfort swirled in the pit of his stomach as he put forth this lie. He had to carry out these orders, no matter the cost to his personal quest for information. Sanzo plunged his spoon into the middle of his bowl and left it there.

"That's not like you," said Goku. "You've never cared about orders before."

Goku frowned at him, and Sanzo couldn’t stand it, couldn't stand the look in his eyes. Where did Goku get off, acting like he knew Sanzo? He'd only been looking after the boy for what? A year? Two? It couldn't have been more than three years, he decided, steadfastly ignoring the feeling that it had been longer than that. Three years certainly wasn't enough time to make Goku an expert on anything, let alone on Sanzo himself.

"And what would you know about me?" said Sanzo.

Goku scrunched up his face in concentration. His breakfast lay neglected, shoved off to the side. For once, Sanzo wished he'd go back to stuffing his face.

"Those questions you want to ask…" said Goku. "They're more important to you than anything, right? So why wait to ask them?"

Sanzo sighed. It was a good thing Goku had Sanzo looking out for him, or the kid would never have made it in the real world.

"I see we're going to have to work on your patience. Again," Sanzo said.

After a few silent seconds with Goku staring at him, that stupid face showing a complete lack of comprehension, Sanzo caved.

"I'm not going to ask my questions right away because I'm going to need leverage," said Sanzo.

"Leverage?" said Goku.

"If Hakkai doesn't want to help out of the goodness of his heart, I need a way to make him," said Sanzo.

Sanzo tried and failed to stop feeling anything about the underhanded methods he was prepared to use. Hakkai would survive this minor bit of blackmail.

"But…that's wrong," said Goku. "It's just wrong."

Goku's golden eyes were accusing. Sanzo deflated a little, though he took pains not to show it. It wasn't like he had been unaware of the moral grey area in forcing Hakkai to help. Sanzo got up from his chair, retrieved his pouch of tobacco from his luggage, and rolled himself a cigarette. He lit it.

"I can't be bothered with right and wrong," said Sanzo. "The things I've heard, the rumors and whispers. It goes far beyond Komyou's death."

He exhaled a cloud of smoke. Goku frowned at him through it.

"But I thought you were investigating your master's murder," said Goku.

Goku sounded suspicious.

"If it were just the matter of knowing who killed him, I would have stopped looking years ago," said Sanzo.

"Then what are you after?" said Goku. "What are we looking for that's so important?"

"I need to retrieve what was stolen, and I need to know what, exactly, Komyou's murderer had in mind when he stole it," said Sanzo. "I have my suspicions, but I need confirmation."

Goku looked at him, nonplussed.

"Master Komyou was guarding a very important, very powerful artifact," said Sanzo. "With it, his murderer could accomplish any number of things, including a kind of life without death."

Goku goggled at him.

"Immortality?" said Goku. "You're joking."

"I wish I were," said Sanzo. "Now you see why I need answers from the one source that is never wrong."

Sanzo paced the length of the room, smoke from his cigarette trailing in his wake. He could practically hear Goku thinking it through. He ground his teeth in irritation.

"This guy, the one who hurt your master," said Goku. "You knew him well?"

Sanzo snorted. Komyou was dead and nothing could change that. It was almost cute the way Goku was trying to spare his feelings.

"Not well enough by half," said Sanzo. "No one did, I think, except Komyou. And now I'm stuck running damage control."

He sighed and sat at the table again, crushing out his cigarette in his mostly uneaten breakfast. It was such a large responsibility he'd shouldered, with so many unknowns, so many changeable elements involved. Sanzo had followed the murderer across continents, oceans, and had spent years trying to find him. One thing was certain, though: Ukoku must be made to pay for his crimes.

"So uh, what's the plan, Sanzo?" said Goku. "You do have a plan, right?"

"When I catch up to Ukoku," said Sanzo. "I'm going to kill him."

"But what if he's, you know…" said Goku. "Not kill-able?"

He gestured vaguely over the remains of his plate of eggs.

Sanzo sneered. A very small part of his consciousness was amused at this; most people didn't sit at the breakfast table and plot someone's death--especially when the person in question might have attained immortality--and here he and Goku sat, and it was, in all honesty, a very normal morning.

"I'll find a way," said Sanzo. "There has to be a way. And Hakkai will help me find it."

"But what if he can't?" said Goku. "What if there's no way?"

Damn, but Goku was persistent this morning. Sanzo started to feel a headache coming on. He spoke through a clenched jaw.

"I'll find a way," said Sanzo. "Even if it means I have to use my half of it."

"But I thought you said that Ukoku guy had the artifact," said Goku.

Goku pronounced the unfamiliar word with great care.

"He only has half of it," said Sanzo. "And the lesser half, at that."

Sanzo gritted his teeth again. He really didn't want to think about it, but it seemed unavoidable. To think that a pair of simple prayer books could be at the heart of so much trouble. But then, as legend had it, these prayer books had been read by the gods at the beginning of the world, and the books had since retained a portion of that divinity. Sanzo crossed his arms and was reassured that his half--the volume for which he was responsible--was still there. The silk of the cover was warm against his skin. It was small comfort.

"Can I see?" said Goku. "Can I? Can I? Please?"

"No," said Sanzo. "You can't."

Forestalling conversation, argument, or the further employment of Goku's imploring golden eyes, Sanzo turned away and opened the door into the hall. He gathered the few things he might need in town and stowed them in his robes. Sanzo toed on his shoes.

"I'm going to settle with the innkeeper," said Sanzo. "If you're not downstairs by the time I'm done, I'm leaving without you."

"But I thought we'd already paid," said Goku. "You wouldn't really do that, would you?"

Goku was already stripping down and clambering into fresh clothing. Sanzo simultaneously rolled his eyes and looked away. Sometimes, Goku just… was a bit much for him, not that he'd ever say such a thing aloud.

"You mean I paid," said Sanzo. "And we might be staying longer than anticipated. Come on, if you're coming."

With that, Sanzo hurried out the door and shut it, slowly realizing what he'd just said. So it seemed he'd decided they would be staying a little longer, maybe ask a few more questions. So what if Goku had influenced this decision? It didn't change his plans at all. He rolled another cigarette as he listened to Goku scrambling around in their room. Sanzo felt his lips curl upward, though whether it was a sneer or a smile, he couldn't tell.

Sanzo started down the stairs, filled with the certainty and satisfaction of getting in the last word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's strange, but I'm feeling the urge to apologize for getting things up here so quickly. (It seems to happen so frequently that I almost feel like I'm fic-spamming.)
> 
> Other than that, I feel pretty good about this chapter. Now that Gojyo's and Hakkai's narrative lines are merged, I thought it would be nice to switch over to Sanzo's. It's been some time since we'd heard from him, anyway.
> 
> Also...I hope you don't hate me too much for changing the form of the sutras. I promise, having them be books instead of scrolls is important-ish. (I honestly couldn't work the canon sutras into the story properly.)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit darker and contains some creepy, possibly objectionable stuff regarding what happened while Gojyo was Ukoku's captive. Please be warned. (I tried my best to keep it tame, but this chapter really deserves its M rating.)

After the perfunctory tour of Hakkai's domain, he and Gojyo sat in the shop's dust-ruffled chairs, swapping small stories between themselves as Gojyo rested from the exertions.

There was a lull in the conversation, a point where the throb in Gojyo's ribs swelled and expanded, taking up all his attention. Gojyo put on a brave face, wishing not for the first time that he could risk going back into the sea. He would heal faster if he were underwater, but no. It was still too dangerous, he could feel it in his bones. Still, some of his pain must have made itself clear to Hakkai, because he turned to Gojyo with a solicitous look.

"Are you feeling unwell?" said Hakkai. "Is there anything I can do? I'm afraid that I can't offer much beyond the healings I've already done, unless you think a bottle of spirits might help."

It was as good an opening as any.

"Thank you," said Gojyo. "I might take you up on that later. Can you tell me, please, what will settle the debt between us?"

Hakkai went quiet. He fingered the fine red hairs braided around his wrist.

"I don't understand you," said Hakkai. "What is your obsession with what you might owe to me?"

"It's a powerful piece of magic," said Gojyo. "And maybe I shouldn't have done it."

He frequently regretted it, these days, but couldn't dismiss entirely the instinct that had made him give the promise in the first place.

"Magic?" said Hakkai. "I'm not sure I understand. There’s a lot of things here that people might consider to be magic, but none of it is real."

He looked around his shop, and Gojyo looked as well.

"I'm not sure I can explain it myself," said Gojyo. "It just is. It's a part of me, of who I am. It's not at all the same as the things you sell."

Except, perhaps, Hakkai's ability to read the cards. Gojyo knew that, at least, was genuine…but he got the sense that that was another taboo topic. It was hard to tell, Hakkai being so placid, hiding himself under layers of fake pleasantries. Gojyo knew most of what he saw was a construct. The question was who Hakkai might really be.

Gojyo felt frustration rising up. What did this human care? What was his motivation? What did he want from Gojyo? As long as Gojyo could convince him to set him free of his obligation, why should he care what this man thought of him? For that matter, what difference did it make, whether the man he saw in front of him was the real Hakkai or not? He inhaled too sharply and his ribs hurt. If only he could make Hakkai understand…

"And who are you?" said Hakkai. "Of, if I might be so bold, what are you?"

Hakkai's eyes were piercing, his voice deceptively gentle. Gojyo felt unable to resist, though he knew there was nothing compelling him to speak beyond the force of Hakkai's personality.

"It's a long story," said Gojyo. "Some of it I pieced together later on, but mostly…"

He sighed, took a deep, slow breath, and collected himself.

"I have the time," said Hakkai. " Perhaps you had better start at the beginning. Tea?"

Gojyo nodded. He took the cup from Hakkai and sipped. It blistered his tongue but did nothing to ease away the cold knot of fear in his guts.

"I've been looking for you," said Gojyo. "I felt your call, before, but I couldn't come, and for that I am sorry."

He hesitated and looked into Hakkai's green, green eyes. Hakkai wouldn't know that he wasn't telling the whole story. The most recent part of it would do, Gojyo decided. The rest of it—his life before—wasn't important today. He exhaled, sending a little cloud of steam up from his tea.

"I just," he said. "I don't know how to explain. You see, there's this creature, this beast that sometimes wears the skin of a man."

Gojyo could tell that he'd effectively captured Hakkai's attention: Hakkai sat ramrod straight in his chair, his cup of tea between his hands steaming, untouched.

"You had told me, in reading the cards for me that I would find what I was looking for," said Gojyo. "You even told me where. So I left the ship as soon as I could slip away."

He sighed. His ribs throbbed. Too bad the rest of the story was so difficult to tell. Even now, safely on dry land and a couple weeks after his escape, Gojyo was afraid. He tried to push down the feelings and focus on the facts.

"I'm sorry for not saying goodbye," said Gojyo. "But what—who—I was looking for was more important than anything, at the time…"

He held on to his tea cup tightly, and he told his story like it had happened to someone else. It was a little easier that way.

 

It had been obvious to Gojyo, at the time, that Hakkai had had no clue that the place he described was, in fact, underwater. Gojyo knew exactly where it was; a rock chimney, connected to a series of caves, not far from the border that separated the lands of his people from the territory of the sharks. It was, however, very far from his childhood home—or what was left of it, at any rate—and for that he was grateful.

His surface to undersea geography was a bit shaky, though, and his preemptive dive into the sea landed him on the other side of the sharks' territories, an area so vast that he'd be hard pressed to skirt around even the edges of it. And as he picked his way across the sea floor, alone and feeling very nervous, he'd been found by what he'd later learned were creations—experiments—of the beast's.

He awoke in that cave, tied down. He met the beast, who had seemed to know everything about Gojyo. The beast clawed open the scars on his cheek. And then…

"Interesting," the beast said. "Tell me, did that hurt more or less than the original wounds?"

Gojyo gritted his teeth. He was damned if he was going to tell this creature how much—too much, really—it hurt. Blood trailed through the water. Gojyo could feel it seeping from the wounds which were already starting scab over.

"Well?" the beast said. "How does it make you feel?"

The creature's man-face wrinkled up in an approximation of concern.

"You still haven't told me your name," said Gojyo. "I want to know whose ass I'm kicking once I get free."

"Hmm?" said the beast. "Are you still concerned with that? You must not be in much pain. Fascinating. You're already starting to heal."

It paced back and forth, suckers popping each time his feet left the ground. Gojyo's full attention focused on it.

"I could tell you who I used to be," said the creature. "Since we're going to get to know each other so well."

He held out a hand and Gojyo flinched backward. The man-beast shook his head. Its face was a moue of concern and false sympathy.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't know about shaking hands," he said. "My name is Ukoku. Pleased to meet you."

Ukoku dropped the sympathy act and grinned then, giving Gojyo a very long, lingering look.

"Oh yes," said Ukoku. "Very pleased to meet you indeed."

Gojyo shivered under that gaze. Who he used to be? This Ukoku was obviously dangerously crazy. He didn't consider himself a coward under normal circumstances, but he knew without a doubt that he was completely in over his head. His skin crawled, and fear sat uncomfortably heavy in his stomach.

"You could be the answer to a very vexing problem," said Ukoku. "But all in good time. I believe you were telling me about your pain."

"I'm not telling you shit," said Gojyo.

Ukoku's eyebrows jumped. He seemed almost curious, as if he hadn't expected resistance from his latest experiment. Because, Gojyo realized, that was what he had become the moment Ukoku's people had found him.

"Oh?" said Ukoku. "And why is that? Am I making you feel uncomfortable? Is it this shape? Perhaps you'd feel a little better if I took one a bit more familiar to you."

"I've never seen you before in my life," said Gojyo. "You kidnap me and tie me down and then worry whether I'm comfortable or not? Screw you."

"Interesting," said Ukoku. "The subject seems to be aware of his predicament and yet is powerless to stop the proceedings. How delicious."

Ukoku paced, seemingly oblivious as he talked to himself. Gojyo wriggled in the chains again. There wasn't any slack. He searched the cave with his eyes for anything that might help him escape. If he could get to that pile of bones over there, he might be able to make a weapon, but that meant he'd need to be unchained.

"You've been searching for your brother," said Ukoku. "I know where he is."

Gojyo froze. He knew it was only a goad, some sort of bait to get him to make him agreeable. But still…

"Ah," said Ukoku. "I seem to have struck a nerve."

"Where is he?" said Gojyo.

His bravado fled. He would have shivered with sudden cold, if it wouldn't have been such an obvious sign of weakness.

"I'm afraid he's dead," said Ukoku. "I killed him myself some time ago."

All feeling drained out of Gojyo.

"It can't be," said Gojyo. "You're lying."

"This must be a terrible shock," said Ukoku. "I can give you proof."

Gojyo didn't understand at first, but Ukoku's human form dissipated, leaving behind that swirl of tentacles. Then, he re-formed, leaving Gojyo staring in absolute horror.

"Do you believe me now?" said Ukoku.

Though the voice was undeniably Ukoku's, it issued from Gojyo's brother's mouth. Gojyo watched in horror as what appeared to be his brother approached.

"What's the matter?" Ukoku said. "Don't you like it? I thought you might be…comforted to know that some semblance of your dear, precious brother lives on."

Gojyo stared, looking for some sign that it was real, for some sign that this was just a nightmare, a dream, a hallucination. Anything but the truth. Gojyo swallowed hard. He studied the grown-up face of the man his brother had become. It was unmistakably his brother, though the voice and the way he moved was all Ukoku.

"Doku," said Gojyo. "What did you do to him?"

"You wouldn't appreciate the work I put into this form," said Ukoku. "Do you know how hard it is to preserve not only the skin, but the memories that come with it? Quite a challenge, if I do say so, but I mastered it—mastered your brother—in the end."

Ukoku picked up a sharp-looking piece of bone, brought it over to Gojyo, and placed the point of it carefully in the middle of the sole of his left foot.

"But I have moved on to bigger and better things," he said. "Like you. Now tell me, little brother, how does it feel when I do this?"

Gojyo tried to squirm backward, but he couldn't move away. The sharp end of the instrument pressed firmly against his skin.

"Come now, don't be shy," said Ukoku. "Pain resistance is only the beginning of what I have planned for you."

Ukoku's voice sounded pleasant, even cheerful, but his eyes were flat and dark like stone. He held Goku's foot with one hand and, slowly, began to push the sharp bone forward.

 

Gojyo threw himself out of the memories, but not fast enough; the phantom pain of having his foot impaled followed him, lingering like the scent of a meal cooked long ago. He flexed his toes cautiously. The middle of his foot ached as badly as any of the wounds he'd received the night before. He smiled weakly at a concerned-looking Hakkai.

"How long?" said Hakkai. "And what did this Ukoku want?"

"I don't know how long I was there," said Gojyo. "Days? Weeks?"

Gojyo turned his head away, looking at Hakkai indirectly, through his eyelashes. He put his teacup onto the table that sat between them.

"Ukoku never said outright what he wanted," he said. "I've got a guess or two, but it's not anything I want to think about."

Gojyo looked down at the shiny new skin around his wrists: another memory of pain best forgotten.

"I understand," said Hakkai.

Hakkai's voice put distance between Gojyo and the past. For that, Gojyo was grateful. He let his hands fall into his lap.

"One thing's for sure, though," said Gojyo.

"And what is that?" said Hakkai.

"I'm going to put an end to Ukoku," said Gojyo.

Gojyo was proud that his voice didn't shake when he said that, that he was able to keep his anger and hatred in check enough for that small thing, at least.

"Ah," said Hakkai. "And so you feel the need to tie up loose ends before you do."

Gojyo nodded. Maybe, just maybe, Hakkai understood.

"I'm afraid, then, that I can't help you," said Hakkai. "Or rather, I won't."

His voice was firm, as was his gaze. He looked calmly at Gojyo, and Gojyo felt his temper rise.

"I have to do this," said Gojyo. "And you don't know the first thing about me, so don't try to go telling me what I can and can't do."

"If you persist in letting your desire for revenge lead you," said Hakkai. "I will not have the pleasure of knowing you, as you will be dead."

Gojyo frowned. This wasn't going as he'd planned.

"There has to be something I can do for you," said Gojyo. "Something that will repay what I owe."

"Really, there isn't," said Hakkai. "Not unless you can bring back the dead."

And then it was Gojyo's turn to stop and stare disapprovingly. Hakkai merely looked back at him, mild-mannered. Gojyo set his teacup down.

"Maybe I shouldn't stay," said Gojyo. "I don't think it's a good idea for me to be here."

"Are you worried I might convince you to give up your grudge?" said Hakkai. "Or is it because it was I who caused you to end up where you did? I won't take offense if you are angry with me."

Gojyo didn't answer. He made to get up from his chair, but his body protested vigorously. He had, until now, been avoiding the idea that Hakkai had been partly to blame. Hakkai had given him advice, true, but he hadn't forced Gojyo to follow up on that, and Hakkai had had nothing at all to do with Ukoku. His head started to ache from trying so hard not to think.

"Then again," said Gojyo. "Maybe we could just pretend we'd never had this conversation."

"Hmm," said Hakkai.

He looked at Gojyo critically; Gojyo could see the wheels turning, though he had no idea what Hakkai might actually be thinking about.

"I think you ought to have a lie-down," said Hakkai.

He took another sip of his tea before he set it down as well. The edge of his saucer clinked against Gojyo's. The fire flickered, catching the glossiness of the braid around Hakkai's wrist. Hakkai sighed.

"I will think about what you've said," said Hakkai. "If you will do the same, and think, really think, about what you're proposing."

"Fine," said Gojyo. "A nap sounds good."

It looked like this was as close as he was getting to his goal, for now.

With silence between them, Hakkai assisted Gojyo out of the chair and up to bed.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is both very short and very different from what I've been doing lately for this story. (The chapter after this will go back to the regular narrative.) I hope you enjoy!

Day One:  
Subject appears human. Displays unusual pigmentation in eyes and hair. Significant to half-blood physiology? Fully developed lungs suggests capability to breathe air without limitations, though presence of gills brings up the issue of redundancy. Appears to possess considerable physical strength: destroyed two previous experimental subjects (23 and 14) during capture. No great loss.

 

Day Three:   
Subject has significant tolerance of chemical sedatives. Capacity to heal may be related. Subject's gills continue to function properly while unconscious. Will wake soon. Have prepared a battery of tests in anticipation.

 

Day Seven:  
Subject's pain threshold is disappointingly low. Healing capacity is still promising. Have turned to alternate oxygenation methods. Half-blood physiology is strange, but may yet be useful.

 

Day Nine:  
Current subject has aversion to seeing subject 38's physical form. Relationship to brother significant? More tests needed to determine.

 

Day Ten:   
Subject talks too much. Accordingly, have suppressed speech center of his brain. An easy matter.

 

Day Thirteen:  
Despite oxygenation, subject's health continues to degrade. Must make alternate plans; subject is proving most enlightening. Subject may indeed be the key to our research. Must consult the book for further edification.

 

Day Fourteen:  
Have not yet determined the limits of subject's ability to heal. Shall reach a conclusion soon. Subject most unsatisfying when unable to answer questions. Have restored ability to speak. Subject seems subdued. Perhaps an effective punishment?

 

Day Fifteen:  
Ignored subject while tending to various other experiments. Amusing, how it is convinced that it is the center of attention. Despite the negative attentions paid it, its desire for contact overrides basic self-preservation. Reconsidering its integration, despite the obvious benefits its flesh could provide. More tests needed. Book is inconclusive at best. Other book is needed to complete the research. A small stumbling block, easily overcome.

 

Day Nineteen:  
Subject has developed relationship with other subject (35.) Strange—subject 38 also bonded with 35. Considered implications: bond as tool to shape future events? Emotions associated with bond disgustingly predictable.

 

Day Twenty Three:  
Abilities of subject determined and catalogued. Adequate and suitable for use. While subject cannot go indefinitely in aquatic or amphibious form (Appendix C for further dialogue) it can live on land with no adverse effects. However, after some consideration, will be scrapping its memories after transfer and integration is complete. A mind is a terrible thing to waste, but it's not much of a mind.

 

Day Twenty Five:  
Deliberately let subject 35 overhear plans for subject. Expecting break-out to be staged soon; thus, am assured that subject will return at a later date, when side-experiments are complete. May even retrieve second book by then, though second guest has yet to arrive. Patience is a virtue.

 

Day Twenty Six:  
Post-escape suggestions planted in subject's subconscious. Manipulating its feelings of loyalty and duty should produce satisfactory results.

 

Day Twenty Seven:  
Break-out completed, as expected. Subject is gone.

 

I will prepare a warm welcome for his return.


	21. Chapter 21

Hakkai wrote a letter to Kanaan, feeling lost and younger than ever, for all that he was nearly thirty and she had been gone six years. He glanced over to the bed, every once in a while, to reassure himself that his guest hadn't somehow awoken and crept out of the room. Not that Hakkai thought Gojyo might do such a thing. Everything the cards had revealed and everything he'd observed so far told him Gojyo wouldn't leave until their business was concluded. Hakkai knew that checking on him like that was, in fact, a sop to a few of his deeply held, private fears. He couldn't stop himself.

He watched the rise and fall of Gojyo's chest for a few minutes, abandoning his letter halfway through the first page. It didn't seem right, writing to her while thinking of him.

Belatedly, Hakkai realized that he hadn't opened the shop today. Surely the loss of a day's potential profit was outweighed by his responsibilities to this man. And still, the idea of not opening the shop at all heightened the anxiety that crowded around the edges of his thoughts. He looked out the window, judging the brightness of the day. It wasn't so late that he couldn't open the shop for half the day. Even if he waited until afternoon, surely that would be all right. Hakkai knew that he was again pandering to his own insecurities, to his follies, and still he could not stop.

He made conditional promises to himself, all the while watching Gojyo for signs of returning consciousness. He would open the shop this afternoon, but only for the afternoon, and only if Gojyo were well enough to join him downstairs, so that his attention wouldn't be further divided and he wouldn't feel compelled to run up the stairs every ten minutes to check on Gojyo's condition. Who knew? Perhaps Gojyo's presence would even draw in a little more custom. Even injured as he was, the man had certain natural charms. He brought a lightness to the musty interior of the shop. Hakkai was aware enough of himself that he could recognize and acknowledge how pleased it made him feel, envisioning Gojyo at the counter beside him or, more likely, ensconced by the fireplace as he recuperated. His imaginings felt right to him.

In fact, the strength of that feeling of rightness was daunting to face.  Hakkai hadn't expected that. He didn't think it was a good idea to…encourage it. After all, Hakkai was dangerous to be around. He attracted bad luck like weathervanes drew lightning. His tarot readings had shown him that, over and over, and his experiences had proven to him time and again that he could not be trusted to do what was right, even in the most ideal of circumstances. It was all too easy to allow himself to be ruled by his passions, too easy by far to convince himself that it was necessary to kill to protect what was his.

Hakkai felt a laugh bubbling up inside. He'd already killed to protect Gojyo. Gojyo's attackers had fallen like wheat before the scythe. He'd killed them all and felt nothing like remorse.

He had killed for Kanaan, too.

Hakkai tried to shake himself out of his maundering. He deliberately turned away from Gojyo, put his back to him and faced the unwritten letter again. He sighed. How would he ever explain all this to Kanaan? He looked at the quill between his fingers, rolled the rachis, watched the ink-darkened nib lengthen to a point and shrink down again, depending on his perspective. His fingers had a few blots of ink on them, and as he turned the quill, again and again, the blots smeared and spread over feather and skin. She'd loved his hands…

The slight shiftings Gojyo made in the bed, no doubt precursors to waking, gave rise to an urge in Hakkai: the imperative thought that he needed to be doing something, needed to look busy, as if this would somehow make Gojyo look upon him more favorably. And so Hakkai dipped the quill in the ink and began to scratch his way to the end of a sentence. He paused, reading it back to himself.

"_I find myself troubled by the visitor of whom I write_," it read. "_I don't know what to do_."

That summed it up nicely. Now that Gojyo had arrived, Hakkai was at a loss. If he freed Gojyo from his obligation, Gojyo would leave again, and Hakkai had been so lonely for so many years… And yet, Hakkai could clearly say that forcing Gojyo to stay was irrational and, ethically speaking, wrong.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t help drawing comparisons between Gojyo and Kanaan, and every instinct he possessed, no matter how he tried to fetter and tame them with logic, with reason and with culture, told him that he must do for Gojyo what he could not for Kanaan. Hakkai must protect him. Hakkai had to save him. Though, from what, he couldn't say.

Gojyo woke, for the second time that day, to the gentle scratching sound of Hakkai writing at his desk. The angle was wrong, so Gojyo couldn’t' tell what Hakkai was writing, but the scratch-scratch-scratch was too regular to be anything else.

"Hakkai?" said Gojyo.

Hakkai stopped writing. He turned around, quill still in hand.

"You're awake," said Hakkai.

"Didn't mean to interrupt you," said Gojyo. "Sorry."

"No," said Hakkai. "It's all right. It's nothing that can't wait."

He set the quill on the desk.

Gojyo stretched carefully, measuring the aches in his body and deciding that he felt even better than he had this morning. He felt pretty good, all things considering, except he did feel a little hungry. His stomach growled, loud enough that Hakkai's eyes moved down from his face to look, though there wasn't really anything to see with the blankets in the way. Gojyo felt a slight flush of embarrassment at the scrutiny.

"I guess it's too late to claim to be stoic," said Gojyo. "I'm pretty hungry."

"Perhaps we should go down to the kitchen," said Hakkai. "That is, if you feel you can manage the stairs. If not, I'm sure I can bring up a tray."

Gojyo sat up as quickly as he dared, pushing the blankets aside and ignoring the way his head swam at the change.

"I can do it," he said. "I'm ready to be out of bed."

Hakkai hovered by his side, presumably just in case Gojyo needed help, which he didn't, thanks very much. Still, it was good to know that he had help and wasn't going to be falling and hitting his head on the way down, especially since Gojyo discovered that standing made him even dizzier than sitting upright. Or maybe that was just the effects of the now-risen sun: it was hot in the little second-story room, and the sun was beating through the window, curtains and all. As he crossed in front of the window, he could feel the temperature rising on his skin. The hairs on his arms prickled with the heat.

"Is it always this hot here?" said Gojyo.

He fanned himself with one hand, and the hair around his face stirred fitfully.

"The air is a bit more still today than it might ordinarily be," said Hakkai. "It should be cooler on the ground floor."

"Good," said Gojyo.

He wiped away the trickle of sweat building at his temples. Hakkai stayed at a distance, although Gojyo noticed how he tensed up every time he stopped to rest, first against the bed, then clinging to the chair at the desk, and finally leaning against the frame of the open door.

"See?" said Gojyo. "I'm doing just fine."

He struggled to keep his breath easy and not to pant. It was _hot_ in here.

"Hmm," said Hakkai.

He laid a hand against Gojyo's forehead. It felt blissfully cool, and Gojyo wondered how Hakkai had managed it when he—and the room they were in—were so hot. Hakkai frowned and pulled away.

"You have a fever," he said. "Or perhaps you are dehydrated. I'm not entirely sure. Would you like a drink of water?"

Gojyo felt acutely dry then, as if the concept—_water_—was the only thing needed to trigger a great thirst in him. He could feel the air of the day sucking the moisture right out of him, just as he felt his blood thickening, his heart struggling to pump it, his body trying to put it to use even though it wasn't how it should be. He breathed shallowly, conserving, even as he felt a kind of urgency setting in, a feeling that bordered on panic. He needed water now.

"I'll take that as a yes," said Hakkai. "Come on, it's not far away."

Hakkai shook him gently and Gojyo tried to focus on anything but the feeling of slowly drying out from the inside. He wanted to move away from Hakkai, whose arm kept him steady down the stairs, because Hakkai, very faintly, radiated heat as well, but Gojyo knew he wouldn't make it down the stairs himself, being too unfocused and dizzy—and even that was a far away thought, almost inconsequential compared to the idea that soon, very soon, he would not be thirsty. There would be water.

And then there was a cup pressed into his hands, and as he raised it up to his lips, everything in him cried out, reached out for more, more _more_. He drank and felt the cold shock of it spreading downward, over his tongue, swirling into his throat, dropping down through him and coming to rest in his gut. Gojyo exhaled and the faintest wash of water, traveling in newly-moistened air, made its way back through his mouth and nose. He closed his eyes for a moment and savored it.

Gojyo opened his eyes and was surprised to find his cup was empty. He drained the last few drops from it, licked his lips, and set the cup down. It was then that he saw Hakkai was watching him. He couldn't read the thoughts and emotions that passed through that face and those green, green eyes, but he knew that something was there. It sent a shiver down his spine.

"Thanks," said Gojyo. "I was thirstier than I'd guessed."

"I should have realized sooner," said Hakkai. "I've made you suffer needlessly. I apologize."

"It's not your fault," said Gojyo.

"But it is," said Hakkai. "I should have been a better host."

Gojyo stared at Hakkai, and Hakkai stared back. At length, it was Hakkai who was the first to look away.

"May I offer you more?" said Hakkai.

He patted the side of a small bucket that sat on the counter. The water inside it sloshed. Gojyo's mouth dried out again and his throat tightened.

"Please," said Gojyo.

  
Hakkai reached for the cup, and Gojyo scrambled to pass it to him like a civilized person might, ignoring the twinges his wounds gave as he moved. Hakkai filled the cup and handed it back. Gojyo drank it down. He wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand, not wanting to let go of the cup. He exhaled, satisfied.

"Do you feel better?" said Hakkai.

"Yeah," said Gojyo. "I could drink some more, but I'm not going to die."

"There's plenty," said Hakkai, as he looked at the bucket.

Hakkai had splashed some water onto his wrist and sleeve, and Gojyo had to forcibly hold himself back from doing something about it—like licking it off the other man. And then he caught Hakkai looking at him. For a few seconds, they simply looked at one another, and Gojyo thought he recognized something in Hakkai's polite regard. He couldn't put his finger on it, though, and it niggled at him.

"Gojyo?" said Hakkai. "Is there something wrong?"

"Your sleeve," said Gojyo. "It's a little wet, that's all."

Hakkai broke the contact first, eyes sliding slowly off Gojyo and down to his own arm. He turned the offending sleeve this way and that, frowning. At last, he dabbed at the wet patch with the hem of his shirt. Gojyo saw a flash of skin—belly? Waist?—almost too perfect to be believed, and then it was gone, covered again by the shirt.

"How careless of me," said Hakkai.

It wasn't clear to Gojyo whether Hakkai meant the way his shirt had rode upward or the water that was now, thankfully, sopped up enough not to draw his attention any more. With the evidence gone, it was like nothing had happened at all.

Gojyo's stomach twisted around the water he'd put in it and gurgled, interrupting his thoughts.

"I…uh," said Gojyo. "You said something about food?"

"Indeed I did," said Hakkai. "Have a seat, please."

So Gojyo lowered himself gingerly to sit in one of the mismatched chairs that flanked the small, chipped table. He still felt quite hot, and it was only midmorning, judging by the quality of the light coming in the windows; the hottest part of the day was still ahead. Hakkai rummaged through the cupboards, pulling out this and that. He got out a knife as well, and began cutting. Gojyo watched him, watched the way he held his hands: careful and sure and strong all at the same time. He licked his lips.

The quality of the quiet in the room was strange, odd, strained. Gojyo cleared his throat.

"You didn't have to take me in or anything," he said. "But you did and I'm grateful."

"I'm glad you found yourself at my doorstep," said Hakkai. "I enjoy your company."

He hesitated, knife going still.

"I hope that I might be able to change your mind about going after your revenge," said Hakkai. "I would miss you."

Gojyo went cold. His stomach did terrible leaps and swoops like he'd swallowed a live fish. Hakkai smiled at him, but the expression never reached his eyes.

"I thought we'd already had this conversation," said Gojyo. "And besides. You don't even know me."

Hakkai placed two plates on the table, one in front of Gojyo, the other in front of the second chair.

"Nonetheless, I would miss you," said Hakkai. "Here. Eat."

  
Gojyo wasn't hungry any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Now that the holidays are out of the way, I hope to be posting more frequently again. And, as always, it's a self-edit job. If something's really weird, please let me know so I can take a look. ^_^


	22. Chapter 22

Sanzo's days of reconnaissance went poorly. The general uselessness of the people around him aside, Sanzo was finding, to his dismay, that there was very little else to know about Hakkai's life here. Hakkai kept to himself, bought groceries here and sundries there. (When they visited the grocers, Goku wouldn't shut up until Sanzo had spent an obscene amount of money on food. That much food wouldn't qualify as a snack for any creature smaller than an elephant. And yet, Goku ate it all by the time they came to the next person Sanzo wanted to question.)

No one knew where Hakkai acquired most of the goods in his shop, though he apparently had agreements with certain suppliers—suppliers whose names were said in hushed tones, assuming Sanzo could find someone who was willing to speak them at all. A combination of bribery and the threat of bodily harm usually did the trick.

He learned that Hakkai never had guests, never went visiting other peoples' houses, never visited the taverns or brothels. The man had only left the island three times in all the years he'd lived there. Sanzo was disappointed that there seemed to be no connecting thread between these excursions.

For all the rumors of occult practices, there was never any trouble. Hakkai lived quietly, slipping beneath the notice of the people around him. Things were so quiet, in fact, that on this third day of walking around the city, asking fruitless questions, Sanzo had left Goku at the inn, just so that he wouldn't have to listen to him whine on and on about how boring this all was.

Except now, Sanzo tracked the single rumor of misconduct he'd heard so far, something he'd found out about only this morning. He'd walked around for an hour and finally found the gambling den in question, an apparent hole-in-the wall that he'd walked by twice before he was sure that this was the place. And now, here he was…

  
Sanzo frowned at the barmaid before him as she scrubbed down tables.

"You're sure?" he said. "Long red hair, a bit on the foreign side?"

She nodded. Sanzo was sure she didn't appreciate the situation. After all, he himself was foreign, but since he looked more like the locals than that idiot Gojyo did... He shook himself and focused back on the woman's story.

"We knew he was cheating, see, and so some of the boys went out to rough him up, like," she said. "Only our boys, they never came back."

"Your people are no business of mine," said Sanzo. "Why should I care about them?"

She pouted. It wasn't a pretty expression. She moved to a different table and continued wiping the same, dirty rag over it as she had the last three.

"Because," she said. "They got too close to_ his _house. We warned 'em good and proper, we did, but did they listen?"

Sanzo snorted and crossed his arms. This didn't seem a likely story to him, and he was glad he hadn't paid for the pleasure.

"I take it someone followed them," he said. "As you said yourself, none of them came back and reported this charming little tale of yours."

She slapped the rag down and approached him. Her eyes moved boldly over his face.

"Even better," she said. "I have it straight from the horse's mouth, I do."

"Oh?" he said. "And which horse might that be?"

The dislike he felt for her morphed into an uneasy excitement. He was careful to keep his expression blank.

"City guards," she said. "They hauled the bodies off."

Bodies? Sanzo's eyebrows rose involuntarily. The woman smiled, and he frowned back, sour. He knew that she knew that she had his interest now. He held himself stiffly as she cozened up to him, backing him up against the bar that ran along the nearest wall.  He gritted his teeth.

"I could tell you what I heard," she said. "For a price."

She looked up at him and Sanzo could tell she was trying to be…flirtatious about it. This close, he could tell that she didn't bathe often enough. Her charms—few and far between as far as he could tell—did little for him. Sanzo wished desperately for his pistol, but the woman was too close for him to get at it easily, and he'd burn in hell before he'd let her think that he'd touch her voluntarily.

"I'm sure we can come to an arrangement," said Sanzo.

"Oh yes," she said. "An arrangement."

She pressed herself even tighter against him. Sanzo couldn't entirely suppress the urge to blanch at her outrageous behavior, though he did manage not to draw his weapon. He reminded himself that he needed the information she had. He felt a headache blossom with the force of his repressed anger.

"It's not often we get such a pretty one as you," she said.

She was _touching_ him now. Her hands were taking liberties that no one, _no one_, was allowed to take. Even Goku, stupid, grabby, clingy thing that he was, wasn't allowed this. This had to stop right now. Sanzo shoved her firmly away and took a deep breath.

"No," he said. "That's not part of the agreement."

She pouted again. The woman actually had the gall to bat her lashes at him,  a coquettish façade which she wore badly.

"I thought mayhap it could be," she said. "Come on, what's it going to hurt?"

She reached out a hand toward him, and Sanzo knocked it away.

"No," he said.

He sneered at her when she couldn't keep up the charade of pleasantry any more, when her artfully made up face twisted with anger.

The front door rattled, drawing their attention. The woman turned to see, her back to the bar. A man came in. Sanzo assessed him with a glance, then went back to watching her, in case she tried something else.

"Nell!" said the man.

"What is it, Dane?" she said. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"So busy you're running custom right out the door," said Dane. "I'd say he's not taking what you're selling."

She scowled, one hand fisted at her hip, the other gesturing rudely at the man, to Sanzo, and at her own bosom all at once.

"He came to me," said Nell.

"Then give him what he came for and get back to work," Dane said. "There's a lot to be done and we're short of hands."

Sanzo cleared his throat and pulled the flintlock out of his robes.

"If you don't mind," he said. "I'm in a hurry."

He motioned to Nell with the barrel of the gun. The woman gaped at him for a few seconds, and Dane seemed to notice him, really notice him, for the first time. Sanzo ground his teeth when neither she nor the man said anything else; the way they stared at him was insulting.

"Start talking," Sanzo said. "Or I start shooting."

Though he could see the fear that lurked in the back of her eyes, Nell was sullen and silent. Sanzo slid a silver coin onto the bar to sweeten her temper.

"Well?" he said.

Sanzo tapped his foot impatiently, waited a minute, and put down another coin—this time gold—to match the first. Nell looked over to Dane, who, eyes wide, nodded. Nell palmed the coins and sat down. Sanzo remained standing, but, as a gesture of good will he didn't really feel at the moment, he put away his pistol.

"Well," she said. "Here's what I heard."

Sanzo left the gambling den in a foul mood. It was the middle of the day and he was hungry, hot, and dusty.  Sanzo was tired. His feet ached from all the walking and backtracking he'd done that day, and they ached in anticipation of more of the same. The sun was doing its level best to blind him as he walked because, of course, he had to travel toward it to get back to the inn— where, undoubtedly, Goku would complain about being left behind and about how hungry he was and how he'd missed out on the exciting stuff today.

Sanzo's skin still crawled from the touch of that barmaid. His pride smarted; she'd had him over a barrel, and they'd both known it. Galling him further was the size of the bribe he'd doled out to her. He'd really, truly wanted to shoot her and damn the consequences. It was infuriating, and his earlier headache worsened with his temper.

A few blocks away from the gambling den, he pulled out his tobacco pouch and rolled himself a cigarette. He was dying for a smoke. He rather enjoyed the looks of fear from the people around him as he lit his cigarette with the striker of the flintlock. He was still in a bad mood, he told himself, even as the smoke coursing through his lungs started to mellow his responses. His mood was simply tempered now, tempered with the knowledge of the bodies and the name and address of the guard with the loose tongue.

Sanzo knew about the bodies now. He allowed himself the satisfaction of a lip-curling sneer. As soon as he tracked down the guard and the bodies…

He'd nail Hakkai to the wall.


	23. Chapter 23

Gojyo spent the next two days holed up in Hakkai's shop. Hakkai said nothing about how quickly he healed, but he seemed pleased that Gojyo spent less and less time in bed and more and more making light conversation. Gojyo felt adrift most of the time, unable to make any progress beyond healing. He hadn't tried to talk Hakkai around, and he'd come to nothing but dead ends when he tried to think his way out of his problems.

Still, he was happy when, on the morning of the third day, Hakkai agreed to a short trip into the town, running a few small errands with Gojyo in tow. Gojyo was so pleased about it that he didn't really care what they were doing. As they walked, he noted the places they went on the map in his head. If he concentrated hard enough on that, he could go seconds or minutes at a time without thinking about how much he missed the sea.

Even here in the heart of the town, he could catch hints of the sound of the waves and, every now and then, a whiff of sea air would come through the choking mess of so many humans living so closely together. There was always something between him and the things he tried to ignore. Gojyo was grateful for every donkey cart that nearly ran him over and every fishmonger trying to convince him to buy some of what was clearly yesterday's catch.

Gojyo started to relax in spite of himself. The past couple days had been like this: so strange and moving him along in their own ways, like a branch caught in the wake of a ship, creating a false sense that maybe, just maybe, this was all normal. Gojyo didn't really have to do anything at all because there would be tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, right? He glanced over at Hakkai, who smiled at him as they walked along the street.

And then, Gojyo caught sight of a nearby woman, and he stopped cold, all the relaxedness and half-enjoyment of walking with Hakkai draining away. He angled his body so that Hakkai was blocking her line of sight.

"Who is that?" said Gojyo.

For a minute he felt queasy at the sight of her; how could it be? But then he examined the woman more closely and he was ashamed and relieved at the same time because her hair was too dark and her face was the wrong shape. Gojyo wished he'd never agreed to leave Hakkai's building.

"I told you," said Hakkai. "We're visiting the apothecary, and she is it. She's the one who's been keeping me supplied with the treatments for you."

Gojyo wanted to laugh at the similarities…or cry at the perversity of it all. Years away and halfway around the world (or so it felt) and here was this woman, similar hair, similar body, an apothecary. It just wasn't right.

"Is something wrong?" said Hakkai. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

Gojyo forced himself to swallow, to wet his too-dry mouth and lips.

"I knew someone, once, who wanted to be an apothecary," he said. "But it's nothing, really."

And Hakkai gave him that look, the one that saw right through him. It made Gojyo feel cold, despite the heat of the day. Thankfully, Hakkai said nothing to him and, instead, made introductions for him. Gojyo nodded and smiled in all the right places, though he didn't feel like doing any of it. The sick feeling in his stomach didn't leave until the apothecary was far, far behind.

 

Later, when Hakkai and Gojyo returned to the relative comfort and safety of the shop, Hakkai cornered him with a cup of tea while they sat in front of the glowing coals of the fire.

"Who was she?" said Hakkai.

"What?" said Gojyo.

He scalded his tongue on the tea. It wasn't like Hakkai to be so blunt.

"Your apothecary," said Hakkai.

"Oh," said Gojyo.

He set down his teacup. Telling his story, at least to himself, had always been painful and useless; reliving his early years was pointless.

"Please," said Hakkai. "I want to know. Earlier…"

Hakkai looked at him with sympathy and understanding, and Gojyo burned with the presumption.

"You looked like you needed a friend," said Hakkai.

"She was a friend," said Gojyo. "Better than I could have asked for, better than I—"

Better than he deserved, for all that she was a whore and he a runaway.

"I was young," said Gojyo. "And stupid."

He tried to settle into the chair, but found himself restless instead.

"I'd run away from home," said Gojyo.

"Oh?" said Hakkai.

Gojyo appreciated his apparent lack of interest, that that brilliant curiosity was being curbed at this moment. He was certain Hakkai knew he wasn't being told the entire story. Still, Gojyo chose his words carefully. He could…omit certain parts of the whole, couldn't he?

"It wasn't safe there anymore, not since…" said Gojyo. "Well. My dad had never been around, and my mom was gone too."

Hakkai made a noise of sympathy, and Gojyo wanted to hit him for it. The man had no idea, no idea.

"It was okay," said Gojyo. "It was just me and my brother for a while. But then, one day, he was gone too."

He went silent, remembering, only half aware of Hakkai's eyes on him.

 

Dokugakuji left when Gojyo was thirteen. He left without a word; left, in fact, when Gojyo wasn't home. Gojyo was stunned. Shocked. Heartbroken. He searched for his brother for days, but soon he was taken over by the basic need to survive. He needed food more than he needed to search for his brother. He needed to go to the surface for air. The need for his brother was painful, but he would not actually die if he didn't continue his search.

So Gojyo scraped by for some time, visiting the surface only when he had to, doing what he had to to keep alive. His brother was never far from his mind, but he never had the time or courage or...something...to continue his search, not when he had food to find and a cave to defend. It may not have been the nicest place to live, but he knew it was better than nowhere. Other people did too, and they'd tried to take it from him at first. Scared out of his mind at the first incursion, Gojyo fought the would-be invaders off with little more than a knife and an overabundance of adrenaline and fear. He killed, that day, and it was terrible. It took hours to haul the bodies off to where the sharks would come and clean up his mess. Even then, he was quick to swim home, scared the predators would decide he was a tasty morsel or, worse, follow him home, scenting the blood trail through the waters. There were others, but they became fewer and fewer over time. He fed the sharks well.

And then, one day, he realized that he'd missed his own birthday. Twice. Almost at the same time, Gojyo realized he was sick of living underwater, where everything he did, everywhere he went, reminded him of his brother, or his mother, or the father he'd never even seen. He was sick of all of it, sick of the kelp beds and coral patches and he was tired of skirting the sharks' territory, sick of the same schools of fish and the same murky green-ness. He hated the sand and the volcanic vents and all the black rocks everywhere. He hated being a halfbreed most of all. Gojyo made a decision.

The next time he surfaced for air, he stayed up.

He got picked up by a fishing boat after several days drifting through the sea on his back. They'd thought he was dead, but when he proved to be alive, they pressed Gojyo into service; hauling nets, mending lines, swabbing the deck, coiling ropes. Some of the sailors tried to get too close to him, but he made out all right. He still had his knife and he was quick to remind them that he was not, ever, helpless. He slept less and watched the men more.

When the ship came to port, its holds full of fish, Gojyo took the first chance he got and ran off. He disappeared into the city. The first night was the worst. He shivered on a doorstep, hand curled around his knife as he pretended to sleep. There were too many people wandering by, some harmless, many not, for him to truly relax into sleep. The city smelled, too, and it was so noisy, compared to the sounds of the ship or, even, the muted noises underwater. Gojyo shook his head. He was never going back there. Never. And nobody could make him, either.

The second night, he found a hidey-hole in a narrow alley: a crate buried in heaps of garbage. It was secure, and no one could see him in it. He could get out several ways--no one would be cornering him. He slept easier.

The third day, he made his way down to the pier and bathed away the scents of the alley in the clean salt water. The water pulled at him, called to him in his bones. He came out of his bath feeling like his heart had torn in two.

On the fifth night, Gojyo met a whore. To be precise, he met several. They plied their trade on the street right near the mouth of his alley. He wanted to go to his crate and sleep, but the whores wouldn't let him pass. They teased him, painted faces glowing in the dim starlight, clothes heaving and rustling of their own accord, myriad perfumes and oils not completely covering the scent of their bodies, washed and unwashed alike. It frightened him that, while their shapes might have been that of humans, they acted very much like his mother. He ran away from their jeers and catcalls like the devil was on his heels.

The next night, a whore approached him when he made the turn into his neighborhood. Gojyo gritted his teeth and prayed to whoever was listening that she would just leave him alone.

"Wossamatter?" she said. "Donwanna tumble? 'Sonly twobit."

Her voice was harsh to his ears. It was almost like she spoke another language as the words tripped and fell over each other as they made their way out of her rouged lips. She clung to his arm, painted nails digging in. Gojyo shook her off, roughly. She stumbled a step or two before righting herself.

"Go away," he said.

He hoped she couldn't see how he trembled. He could still feel her cold, hard hand on him.

The whore narrowed her eyes.

"Then what're you doing here?" she said. "Iffen you don't want a girl or sommat?"

She pronounced her words more carefully this time.

"I live here," said Gojyo. "Now leave me alone."

"Oh,?" said the whore, after a minute's pause. "Hard luck, that."

Her face softened and Gojyo couldn't stand it, that pity.

"Yeah," said Gojyo. "Good night."

He squeezed past her and ran for his alley, for his crate and for safety.

 

Gojyo was blissfully alone for the next two days. He didn't see anyone, didn't talk to anyone. He moved silently through all the crowds of humanity. Disaster struck with no warning. One night, not long after his conversation with the whore, he turned into the little alleyway that had sheltered him...only to find his crate—the crate, the garbage, all of it—was gone. The alley was as clean as an alley in a disreputable part of a port town could be. Gojyo's knees weakened and he leaned against the wall. It was all gone.

A cold hand landed on his shoulder and he jumped, turning around, hair lashing with the movement.

It was another whore. Not the one he'd spoken to before, but Gojyo had seen this one around before, he was fairly certain.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “If we had known...”

“We?” he said.

He was numb in his loss now.

“We,” she said.

She gestured and Gojyo realized that all the whores he'd seen in the neighborhood, and perhaps a few he hadn't, were there. They surrounded him and he thought he was going to choke on the air, thick with perfume and sorrow, all for him.

“Well then,” said the leader, her hand still firm on his shoulder. “I'm Yaone. And you are?”

“Doesn't matter,” said Gojyo. “I'll just be going now...”

“Where to?” said Yaone. “I don't believe you have anywhere to go.”

“Doesn't matter,” said Gojyo, again. “I'll find somewhere.”

But Yaone held him fast.

“Come with us,” she said. “We may not be ideal company, but with us, you'll have something to eat and somewhere to sleep, at the very least.”

And the whores drew Gojyo to them, enfolded him in their arms and their compassion.

They kept him safe and warm and fed. He had clothing too, and gained an education of sorts as the women plied their trade. Though it would have been easy enough for Gojyo to start his own career, he discovered that, though whoring had its appeals, he was far more interested in the gambling houses where some of the better-off girls worked, out of the elements. He learned to play cards.

Gojyo's life crawled by, one day largely like the next. He still stayed with the whores, still sharpened his gaming skills at the gambling dens and looked out at the sea with a deadened longing. He felt the thirst for the ocean in his bones, as if he were some dried-out starfish waiting to be washed back into the sea.

 

And then there came a day when the call of the sea was too much. It was irresistible, and he was drawn to it, unable to talk to anyone around him. The tide worked its way into his breath, into his heartbeat, sent the blood pumping through him with each wave that crested and broke upon the shore. He left without saying goodbye. He slipped into the water and disappeared.

Gojyo hadn't been in the sea for two years. He was seventeen now, and he hadn't been home in two years. He hadn't searched for his brother. He hadn't thought much about anything besides playing cards and drinking and the women who'd sheltered him in two years. He shot through the water, straight to his old home. Maybe, just maybe, Doku had come back, or left a message or something. He cleared the rocky sea-floor ridge that sheltered the little cluster of caves that had been home.

There wasn't anything there. Just a heap of rubble, greenish black rock, crusted in mussels and algae. There were no signs that anyone had ever lived there.

Gojyo stopped dead in the water. He stared for a while. There weren't even any fish nosing around the ruins. The caves had been destroyed and, from the looks of it, a long time ago at that. He rested himself, absently, on a slab of rock. He laughed for a moment, and then he held his head in his hands.

 

"Gojyo?"

It took him a minute to shake off the past enough that he could answer.

"I’m fine," he said. "Like I said, it's nothing."

"Hmm," said Hakkai.

Gojyo held his breath, waiting for Hakkai to say something, anything, waiting for him to contradict, to point out of course it wasn't nothing. But Hakkai didn't. They sat, uncomfortably silent, long enough for the fire to die down even more and the tea to go cold. Then Hakkai rose, walked away without a word.

Despite the heat of the day pressing down, Gojyo shivered. He sat alone.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking so long between chapters! Also, in case you haven't been keeping track, there are less than ten chapters left until the conclusion of this story. Yay for me! (But possibly not yay if you've been enjoying this story for the past however long I've been posting it here...)

It had taken Sanzo, with Goku in tow, the better part of an hour to navigate the central city guards' station. Everything matched up to what the loose-tongued city guard had told him, and for that Sanzo supposed he ought to be grateful. It was big, convoluted, and a rat's nest of bureaucracy, all of it corrupt. He'd greased far too many palms with silver, but each coin led him that much closer to what he wanted.

Sanzo knew he'd found the right part of the building at last when his throat started to sting from the overwhelming force of the smell. Even Goku was subdued, and his nose wrinkled up as they opened the door. Sanzo held his breath as best as he could. A properly placed bribe got him and Goku half an hour with the guard outside the door. The smell in the morgue was incredible.

There were a dozen bodies, laid out on a dozen slabs. Sanzo wondered, briefly, what would happen to them once the guards had finished with them. Burial in a pauper's grave? Or would cremation be more in keeping with city policy? Sanzo breathed shallowly through his mouth. Not his problem.

"Whoa," said Goku. "Look at 'em all! Like slabs of beef…except they're smelly and kinda gross."

"Don't go getting any ideas," said Sanzo.

"As if," said Goku. "I'm not _that_ hungry."

Sanzo turned one of the bodies over. It was Hakkai's work, no mistake. He has leverage now. Until now, he hadn't realized he'd cared enough about Hakkai and his pathetically simple—idyllic, even—life here that he'd been hoping to find no proof at all. He'd been hoping Hakkai would get away from it all and be left alone.

There were eight bodies, all with the same kinds of wounds, all coming from the same fight, the same place, so close to where Sanzo knew Hakkai lived and worked. Sanzo wondered what, exactly, these people had done to piss him off.

He looked carefully for clues, searching the bodies as thoroughly as he knew how. Sanzo wanted to kill the men all over again because he wasn't finding anything useful. The little looks Goku kept shooting him were not helpful. Sanzo was very aware that their time was almost up, and looking at the guarded door every ten seconds didn't do anything productive. They might have to come back at another time and bribe the guards again, all in the hopes that those bodies would still be there and not yet rotted beyond recognition. There had to be something to tie Hakkai to the bodies.

"Hey Sanzo," said Goku. "What's that?"

"What's what?" said Sanzo.

"There, on that guy's shoe," said Goku. "Thought I saw something."

Sanzo couldn't let his hopes get up; it was probably just horse crap or something. This town was absolutely filthy, and anyone who walked its streets ran the risk of picking something nasty up on the soles of his shoes. Nonetheless, he bent over to examine the shoe in question. He sucked in a quick breath of air.

"What is it?" said Goku. "Did I do good?"

Goku bounced impatiently behind him, his head coming into Sanzo's peripheral vision every few seconds.

"Be quiet," said Sanzo.

He looked quickly around the room for something to help scrape off the muck on the shoe. His eyes landed on what was, presumably, the guard's unattended lunch.

"Bring me that skewer," said Sanzo.

"Huh?" said Goku. "You hungry or something?"

Sanzo ground his teeth.

"I want the skewer, not the food on it," he said. "Hurry up!"

Goku brought him the empty skewer. Sanzo didn't ask what had happened to the food it had had, though judging by the way Goku was licking his lips… Sanzo frowned and concentrated.

He dug the point of the skewer into the grime that crusted the sole of the dead man's boot. Dried mud and other, less savory things came free in flakes and chunks. Sanzo saw the gleam of something else, something that didn't belong.

There, in amongst the mud and stones and filth, was a single, long red hair. Sanzo teased it out, careful not to break it. He examined it closely and nodded. He felt a grim sense of triumph.

"Somehow, our man here bumped into Gojyo," Sanzo said. "And I doubt it's coincidence."

Goku's face scrunched with concentration.

"I don't get it," he said. "What's Gojyo got to do with Hakkai? Did Hakkai kill these guys…because of Gojyo?"

Goku looked at the corpses, unusually somber. Sanzo didn't answer him right away; instead, he pitched the skewer on top of the body, and he tucked the red hair into one of the sleeves of his robe. He strode to the door.

"You can ask Hakkai yourself," said Sanzo. "We're going for a visit."

Sanzo yanked the door open and brushed past the guard without another word. Goku followed close behind.

  
Hakkai had been alone in his shop for all of an hour. Gojyo had gone out with a bit of money in hand, to some gambling establishment or another—just for fun, he'd said—and so Hakkai had smiled and given his blessing, because what else could he do? He had no ties to Gojyo, save the unfinished business that lay between them. Saving Gojyo was irrelevant, was part of that unfinished business and had added to Hakkai's own sins in the process. And besides which, during his convalescence Gojyo proved himself invaluable around the shop: another thing Gojyo had given to Hakkai beyond what he'd already given. Hakkai felt heavy, burdened, with the things that had passed between them.

Still, Hakkai looked around with some satisfaction. The displays were orderly now, and everything was free of dust and dirt. It really looked like a different place. He found his attention drawn to the back room, and he sighed. Well. Almost everything looked well-kept and inviting. There was precious little he could do about the back room. Hakkai had a healthy sense of respect for the artifacts stored there, and he'd be damned before he let Gojyo touch any of it. It just wasn't safe. Hakkai shuddered to think about two such disparate parts of his life intersecting like that. Thinking he heard something from the back room, he blanched. Was it that laugh, come again, up out of time, to mock him? His eye-socket ached deeply. But it was nothing, nothing but his own agitated breathing. He forced himself to breath normally, and the ache faded back down.

Hakkai took his usual seat at the counter. Perhaps he'd better rest for a bit. He slouched a little, elbows sliding over the counter, and he thought of Gojyo. Hakkai's little kingdom looked so small and empty. Gojyo was probably holding court in a card house right now, flashing that smile at his opponents, at the serving girls and the bartender and everyone else there. He was devastatingly charismatic, and the touch of the exotic he had only sweetened the pot. Gojyo made a person stop and take notice. Even, Hakkai admitted, even a person such as he.

It hurt a part of him to think this way, a part he'd thought dead and gone, ever since Kanaan had left this earth. Hakkai didn't know if he had the strength left to excise it, to kill himself all over again by letting Gojyo leave. Hakkai fingered the red hairs braided around his wrist. It was selfish to think of, but he could ask Gojyo to repay his debt by staying here, for as long as Hakkai could keep him. Perhaps Gojyo would even come to l—

The shop door opened then, and Hakkai was jolted out of his thoughts. It was Sanzo. Hakkai frowned thoughtfully. Sanzo let the door slam shut behind him, and he stalked over to the counter.

"Good morning," said Hakkai.

He racked his brain, not understanding why Sanzo was here.

"It's afternoon," said Sanzo.

Hakkai took a quick look at the clock that hung on the wall.

"So it is," said Hakkai. "I must say, I didn't expect to see you back so soon."

At the same time, he counted backward. So soon? It felt like years had passed, though it had been less than a week, all told, since Sanzo had arrived and Gojyo had dropped into his lap.

"I told you I'd come back," said Sanzo.

"Did you?" said Hakkai.

"Yes," said Sanzo. "Have you reconsidered?"

Hakkai was only half-paying attention. He yawned, masking his open mouth with a hand. Then he sat a little straighter in his seat.

"Reconsidered what?" said Hakkai. "The only thing you did whilst you were last here was make threats."

"I want you to read the cards for me, to tell me where I can find a certain man," said Sanzo. "I could even pay you for your time."

Sanzo's tone was as mild as it ever got. Warning bells went off in Hakkai's head. He schooled himself to reveal nothing that Sanzo didn't already know.

"Unless you can raise the dead, I suggest you save your breath," said Hakkai. "I won't do it, and there's nothing you can offer me to make me change my mind."

"Even if I could bring her back, I wouldn't," said Sanzo. "I wouldn't bring anyone back."

Sanzo smiled the same sort of false smile Hakkai used. He rolled himself a cigarette and drew the flintlock to light it. He said nothing and waited. For people who were on opposite sides of the fence, as it were, they were all too similar, and Hakkai wondered if it had been a mistake to challenge him so directly. This calmness wasn't like Sanzo at all. It was possible Sanzo thought he had an advantage, one that he was sure would tip the scales in his favor. Hakkai frowned.

He took a drag of his cigarette, held it for a second or three, and exhaled.

"And besides," Sanzo continued. "I would think you'd be a little more grateful. I did say the prayers over her."

An ugly hate rose in Hakkai. Sanzo wanted him angry, that much was clear. Hakkai reined himself in even more tightly. He was not going to give Sanzo the satisfaction of seeing how deeply his words dug. Hakkai exhaled. He looked Sanzo in the eyes.

"Surely you're not suggesting that the prayers of a high priest carry more weight than those of a layman," said Hakkai. "I didn't think you were quite so vain as that."

"You seemed pleased enough at the time," said Sanzo. "Are you having regrets?"

Hakkai reigned in the urge to physically lash out at Sanzo.

"I won't read the cards," said Hakkai.

"Cho Gonou, mass murderer," said Sanzo.

Hakkai flinched away from the sneer on Sanzo's face. Sanzo's lips curled around his cigarette. He looked up at the ceiling and spoke.

"I have orders," said Sanzo. "If I see such a person, or find a person I suspect is the murderer disguised, I will escort him, in irons, back home to be judged at the high court."

His voice was soft, even conversational. It both angered and frightened Hakkai. How dared Sanzo, to threaten him like this? And yet Sanzo could, because they both knew he could get away with it. This whole conversation was a fiction, carefully constructed, and Hakkai knew his part in it, and he could not, would not deviate from it because Sanzo would do exactly as he threatened if Hakkai didn't play along. Sanzo had him caught as surely as if he'd shackled him with physical chains.

Hakkai smiled again, and it was brittle.

"I'm afraid you must be mistaken," said Hakkai. "There is no such person here."

"Of course," said Sanzo.

Hakkai seethed at the way Sanzo inclined his head. He wanted to gouge out the triumphant gleam in Sanzo's eyes. There was only a very little part of Hakkai that was shocked by the idea: the rest of him liked it all too much.

"I hardly think such a search would be worth your time," said Hakkai. "As you yourself told me, no one is looking for Cho Gonou any more."

"Not worth my time?" said Sanzo. "Then the eight bodies I've discovered, identical to bodies found in that massacre, must be coincidence."

Sanzo held out his free hand, and threaded between his fingers was a glint of red. Red hair, Hakkai realized.

"I know this isn't yours," said Sanzo. "Were you just passing by, then? Being a good neighbor? helping a stranger?"

Hakkai felt his insides turn to ice, his anger gone. He'd been altogether too careless, and he couldn't say one way or the other if it had been a deliberate attempt to sabotage the life he lived here. Why hadn't he taken care of the bodies himself? Why had he used knives, the same knives he'd used those years ago? He was a fool who deserved to be shackled, dragged back east, and executed, though of course he'd do nearly anything to avoid that fate. Hakkai wanted to atone for his sins, to live his life as a sort of penance, and he couldn't do that if he were dead. Hakkai swallowed hard. It did his dry mouth little good.

"As I thought," said Sanzo. "It was my mistake to let you go the last time."

"That doesn't matter to me," said Hakkai. "Not then and not now. I'd do it all again, you know."

At least, he thought it mattered less to him than Sanzo believed.

"Oh, I know," said Sanzo. "You've never cared much for your own life, have you?"

Hakkai turned to Sanzo, polite. The pit of his stomach sank a little further.

"I really don't understand what you hope to accomplish," said Hakkai.

"I'm sure these things you take so lightly will matter to _him_," said Sanzo. "Read the cards for me, or I tell him everything, and your own reputation will drive him away."

Hakkai's heart clenched as he thought of long, red, hair and that charming smile.

"I could have told him," said Hakkai, but it came tumbling out, rushed, far too fast to ever be believed as a truth.

"You haven't," said Sanzo.

Sanzo stared him down, his eyes locked onto Hakkai's. The ticking of the clock was deafening. At length, Hakkai sighed, defeated. There was nothing he could do or say that would sway Sanzo. He looked down at his hands, looked at the squarish lump the Tarot deck made in the pocket of his pants, flattened atop his thigh. Hakkai resisted the urge to touch the cards. He looked back up again, focusing on a point just below Sanzo's cheekbone because he was too shaken to truly face him.

"Did you ever think that if you had simply asked, I might have said yes?" said Hakkai. "No need for blackmail, no need to threaten and coerce."

Sanzo's smirk fell and deepened into a frown.

"You're a wanted criminal," said Sanzo. "I don't trust you."

"And putting the screws to me is supposed to secure you my loyalty?" said Hakkai.

He could afford to be bitter and angry. They both knew he'd lost this argument. It was a matter of pride to make this poor, token effort to fight Sanzo's hold on him, and pride was just about the only thing Hakkai had left.

"Loyalty be damned," said Sanzo. "You'll do as I say, Cho Gonou, or I'll kill you myself, before the executioner ever sees you."

Hakkai stood, came around the counter, and escorted Sanzo to the door.

"Come back tomorrow morning," said Hakkai. "I'll read the cards for you then. You'll have your master's killer, I guarantee."

Though what the cards would say beyond that, Hakkai couldn't even begin to guess. He was too tired to do anything now except open the door to let Sanzo out. Sanzo took two steps and stopped. It took Hakkai a second to catch on.

Red hair in the doorway. Long, red hair. A half-familiar scent. Hakkai froze.

_No_.

He smiled, but it cracked and broke.

"Gojyo?" said Hakkai.


	25. Chapter 25

Gojyo didn't say anything, even when Sanzo bulled past him, shoving him against the frame of the door. He just stood there, feeling stupid and used and betrayed. He hadn't meant to overhear their conversation, but he couldn't erase the fact that what he heard was damning.

"Gojyo," said Hakkai. "Gojyo, say something, please."

Gojyo risked a quick look at Hakkai. He looked like he was in pain, and his attempts to smile were useless: those green eyes of his were too bright and liquid, on the verge of crying. Hakkai reached out for him. Gojyo swatted his hand away.

"Don't," he said. "Just don't."

"I'm sorry," said Hakkai. "I—"

"You're in my way," said Gojyo.

Hakkai moved to the side of the door and Gojyo stormed past, intent on gathering his very few belongings and leaving. Gojyo worked feverishly to act, to react without thinking. He was tired of thinking. He didn't care that there had to be a reason, some reason why he'd ignored the little things that hadn't added up, some reason why he'd ignored the voice in the back of his head that had said maybe, just maybe, Sanzo hadn't been wrong, suggesting his green eyed man and Cho Gonou were one and the same.

He stomped upstairs, checked the bedroom, and got the few belongings he had that he wasn't wearing. That done, he went back downstairs, pushing past Hakkai again, and he got as far as the alley that ran between Hakkai's building and the next before he ran out of steam. He leaned against the damp, slightly slimy bricks of the next building over and breathed hard through his nose. Unaccountably, his mind was drawn to that song, the song that Sanzo had reprimanded him for mangling. He couldn't believe it was true. It couldn't be.

The sound of Hakkai's approaching footsteps made him angry, angry enough that his lips, of their own accord, pursed and he whistled out the first bar of the song. The sound of it was accusatory as Gojyo stood, embittered, one hand in his pocket and the other on the small bundle of his clothes. He whistled the refrain as Hakkai drew near.

"Please stop," said Hakkai.

The friendly smile on his face never changed, but his eyes were hard.

Gojyo stopped, the sound cut off in the air, sheared by the sunset gloom in the alley.

"You didn't tell me," said Gojyo.

"You never asked," said Hakkai. "Not that we had much time for introductions, as I recall."

"I gave you a boon, made a promise" said Gojyo. "I don't know what…"

Gojyo laughed, rough and low. He wished he had something to drink, something to dull his mind for just a little while.

"I never thanked you for it properly," said Hakkai.

Hakkai stroked the bracelet, and Gojyo shivered. He pushed off the wall and circled Hakkai, inspecting him, though he wasn't sure what it was he looked for.

"Tell me," said Hakkai. "Does it bother you, knowing you have given your word to a murderer?"

His voice was pleasant, inviting. It tempted the listener, and oh, Gojyo was tempted, even now.

"Don't talk about yourself like that," said Gojyo, even though he didn't entirely believe that Hakkai shouldn't.

Hakkai's face crumpled in on itself a bit. He looked so horribly sad, thought Gojyo.

"You remind me of my everlasting sins," said Hakkai. "For that, too, I thank you."

And right there, in the half-lit alleyway that ran beside his shop, Hakkai kissed Gojyo, hard and wet, a hint of tongue. He wound one hand into Gojyo's hair and pressed him against the wall. Hakkai's lashes brushed against Gojyo's cheek. Gojyo's belongings tumbled to the ground with a soft thump.

Hakkai let go of him, pulled back, covering his mouth with a hand, looking like he'd seen a ghost.

"I am sincerely apologetic," said Hakkai. "If you'll excuse me."

Hakkai walked away, footsteps echoing down into the dark of the night. Gojyo stood there, dumbfounded for a minute. He licked his lips and tasted Hakkai on himself. He picked up his belongings and chased after Hakkai, still feeling the warmth of that hand in his hair.

By the time Gojyo made it around to the front of the shop, Hakkai was gone and the door was locked tight. The interior of the shop was dark, no light casting shadows on the curtained windows. Gojyo banged on and rattled the door, and he kicked it once more for good measure when Hakkai did not come.

He licked his lips again and headed to the taverns.

Hours later found Gojyo drunk and wavering as he sat at the edge of the docks, a half-empty bottle in hand. He stared down into the dark water. He poured the remains of his drink over the edge. It hadn't done anything to take away what he felt, even when what he felt the most, at the moment, was the memory of Hakkai's lips against his.

"Fucking Hakkai," he said.

He tossed the bottle in as well.

The water looked inviting. Gojyo sighed. Maybe he'd spent too long on the surface. He couldn't recall the last time he'd been breathing air like this. It had been such a long time since he'd gone under the water, and there'd been no signs of any pursuit from the beast. Something niggled at him, but he couldn't think of what it was, not as drunk as he was. And…he missed it, the cool blue-green, the feel of it on his skin, the way his body felt as he swam…

"What the hell," he said. "Not like anyone's going to miss me."

He stripped, binding his clothes together and securing them to the underside of the pier. Gojyo dove, entering the water without a ripple, and he arrowed out to sea.

  
Hakkai stayed up all night, locked in his shop. At first, he tried to actually work: he dusted, he rearranged the astrology charts and the good luck charms. He got out the paper and ink and tried to drown out his thinking— useless, tangled circular thinking—with work. The charms and charts he sold wouldn't write themselves, after all. He set the papers aside when he realized he was half-heartedly drafting charms to bring back lost things.

Hakkai brooded. He wished he hadn't managed to chase Gojyo away. He had to explain. He had felt such a strange, strong connection between the two of them from the moment they'd met, and time had not lessened it. He was helpless before it now, caught in the impulse to protect, to save, to smooth things over so that Gojyo wouldn't leave. Logically he knew this was all impossible. How could he explain all this? He couldn't, just as he couldn't bear the thought that Gojyo was out in this rough town, by himself, angry and hurt and alone.

"Please," he said. "Please, I…"

His voice sounded weak even to him, and he was used to sounding and feeling weak. It was much safer for everyone if he did his best to bury his true feelings and live teetering on the edge of acceptable behavior. Even here, in this place on the borders of nowhere, he knew he never could have lived with dear Kanaan, could not live with Gojyo now that he'd bollixed it up, and that knowledge ate at him. It fed a tremendous rage that simmered in the deepest part of him. His head began to ache.

Seeing Gojyo had brought to life all the things he wished he'd been able to rid himself years ago, part of him he'd thought dead with Kanaan. And oh, how he _wanted_. He burned with conflicting urges, burned to—selfishly, he knew—possess Gojyo. His hands remembered caring for Gojyo's wounds, remembered the feel of his skin, the sharpness of his jaw, the sheer heat of life that ran in him. He remembered their kiss, brief as it was. Hakkai's whole body trembled, and he felt strange, like his own skin was too tight to contain both him and his feelings. It dizzied Hakkai. Surely, surely Gojyo would never have consented to anything with him. And now that the truth was out, Hakkai was sure he was damned. Perhaps it was best if Gojyo never came back.

But even as he thought this, he flared with outrage. Gojyo would come back. He had to. And if he didn't…

Hakkai didn't realize for some time that he'd not only upset the ink-well, but he'd shattered it as well, sending shards of it deep into his palms. His blood mingled with the ink, ruining many sheets of unwritten charms and seeping into the counter itself. Wiping off one hand onto his shirt left streaks of black and red together. His hand throbbed, but all he could think of was that red, red hair.   

In the kitchen, Hakkai washed away the ink and blood, and he picked out the fragments of glass as best as he could. He poured a measure of brandy over the cuts, then wrapped his still-throbbing hand in a clean bandage. It was the best he could do for himself, one-handed, and he hoped it would be enough to let the wounds heal cleanly.

He then returned to the storefront, where he cleared away the things he'd ruined, sweeping up the glass and burning the papers. There was no reason for anyone to see the foolishness he'd wrought. Hakkai mopped up the blood and ink, which, thankfully, left no more than an indistinct, darkish stain behind. No one else would be the wiser. Perhaps with a bit of luck he'd be able to polish it into further obscurity. He got out the polish and a rag and did his best to ignore the rising taint of incense in the air. All it would take to remove the stain was just a little more work. Just a little more.

  
The rattle of the front door startled Hakkai out of his fugue. He came back to himself and realized that his arms and back were aching. He was shocked to see his reflection in the counter-top: at first he thought there was someone else in the room with him, and it was enough to make him drop his rag. The whole counter gleamed like glass. His hands were rubbed raw, and his bandaged hand was bleeding through. The front door shook again, and someone knocked.

Out of habit, Hakkai went to the front door and pulled aside the curtain. It was Sanzo on the other side, framed in the light of dawn. Hakkai blinked. Was it day already? He unlocked the door and Sanzo came inside.

Sanzo looked at Hakkai's hands and frowned.

"You've been cleaning," said Sanzo.

"Ah, yes," said Hakkai. "It appears I have."

"You haven't managed to get rid of that incense," said Sanzo. "It smells like death in here."

Hakkai took a sniff of the air. He could barely smell the incense over the rank scent of the polish, but then he'd been locked in with both smells and could well be inured to all of it.

"It has lingered," said Hakkai. "I rather hope it will fade on its own."

Sanzo crossed his arms. He shook his head.

"Unlikely," said Sanzo. "You still have those grotesque souvenirs of Yisou's, don't you? They hold a part of his will here."

Hakkai's spine prickled at Yisou's name, and he involuntarily looked to the store room. Everything looked fine. This did not reassure him.

"I was hoping you might be able to help," said Hakkai. "I've kept them as safe as I know how, but I'm afraid they are apt to wander."

Sanzo shook his head again.

"I don't have time for pleasantries or wrapping up your little problems," he said. "My half of the sacred texts are resonating."

Hakkai looked at Sanzo, who pressed one hand over his heart. Hakkai thought he saw a quiver of movement, but it could have been the breath moving in and out of Sanzo's body.

"The books know each other," said Sanzo. "He has to be near."

"Please, sit," said Hakkai. "Here."

He indicated the stool behind the counter. Sanzo sat, and Hakkai stood in front of the counter. It was an interesting change in perspective. Pity Sanzo wasn't likely to appreciate such small things, judging by how impatient and short-tempered he seemed.

"Will a four-card spread do?" Hakkai said.

"Whatever," said Sanzo. "Just make it quick."

Hakkai got the Tarot deck out. He wrapped the handkerchief around his injured hand before he thumbed through the rather worn cards, shuffling them a few times. He set the cards face-down on the counter.

"Cut the cards, please," said Hakkai.

He watched Sanzo's reflection move to split the deck, then stack it together again.

"Please form your question in your mind," said Hakkai. "I'll need your left hand."

He touched the fingers of his right hand to Sanzo's left, the barest contact, and tried not to feel resentful that Sanzo shrank away from the touch, hampered as it was by the bandages. With his left hand, Hakkai turned over the top card.

"The Chariot," said Hakkai.

He turned the next card over and frowned.

"The Magician," said Hakkai.

The next card started a chill, deep inside him.

"The Tower," he said. "I'm not sure I should—"

"Finish it," said Sanzo.

Hakkai didn't want to turn the last card over, but Sanzo's hand clasped tight over his, grinding the bones of his fingers together. Hakkai felt his wound open further, and it burned. Together they hovered over the cards, not quite touching. There was nothing to fear but the truth, Hakkai told himself. It was little enough comfort that he was doing the reading for Sanzo and not himself.

He exhaled and turned the last card over. His heart fell.

"The Wheel of Fortune," Hakkai said.

Hakkai withdrew his hand from Sanzo's. His fingers had gone cold, but the blood rushing back into them did not warm him. He felt his palm seeping.

"What does it mean?" said Sanzo.

Hakkai pointed to the first card.

"This is you," said Hakkai. "The Chariot. It refers, I believe, to your mission to find your master's killer and restore the second book to its rightful place. You must be careful not to let that mission blind you."

Sanzo snorted.

"I know what I have to do," he said. "What else?"

 Hakkai thought this advice was probably coming a little late to be of use to Sanzo, but it was the truth nonetheless. He indicated the second card in the spread.

"Your present," said Hakkai. "The Magician. Your master's killer is strong and skilled, and he has many tools at his disposal, arcane and otherwise. He is a difficult opponent."

Sanzo didn't seem outwardly concerned, and Hakkai suspected this too was something Sanzo had known before he had set foot in Hakkai's domain.

"And the third?" said Sanzo.

Hakkai blanched. The illustration itself was rather simple: a short, crenellated tower one might see at any fortress. It was superimposed on a cloudy sky. There was nothing ominous about it, save its meaning.

"The Tower," said Hakkai. "The Tower is your future. It is a card of great upheaval, of calamity. This bodes ill for your confrontation with The Magician."

"Ukoku," said Sanzo. "His name is Ukoku."

Hakkai froze. Then, he eased forward on his elbows, sliding across the counter. He started to laugh, and Sanzo gave him the strangest look. He reached out and shook Hakkai by his shoulders. Hakkai couldn't stop laughing for long minutes. When he did, his ribs were sore from the effort, and he straightened up with some pain.

"Of course," said Hakkai, to himself. "It seems even I have been blinded by your urgency."

Sanzo swept the first three cards aside.

"None of this is what I wanted to know," said Sanzo. "I want to know how to find Ukoku. What is the significance of this one?"

Sanzo tapped the final card with one finger.

"That would be the key to all your problems," said Hakkai. "It's The Wheel of Fortune. It embodies, for you, reversal and sudden change. It can swing the balance of your fight in your favor."

Sanzo leaned forward and Hakkai could hear his teeth grinding together with ill-concealed temper and impatience.

"What is the Wheel?" said Sanzo. "Where is it?"

Hakkai shook his head.

"Not a what," said Hakkai. "But a who. I'm surprised you didn't realize it before now."

Sanzo drew his gun. His face was reddening with anger. He abandoned all pretense of reasonableness.

"Focus, or I swear I'll shoot you now and damn the consequences," he said. "Who? Tell me!"

"It's Gojyo," said Hakkai. "Find Gojyo, and you'll have Ukoku at hand."

Sanzo's eyes widened.

"It was him?" said Sanzo. "All that time, wasting away on that miserable ship, and it was _him_?"

And then it seemed Hakkai's words truly sank in. Sanzo put away his gun.

"Gojyo isn't here?" said Sanzo. "What the hell happened?"

Hakkai shook his head, feeling the same murk of regret and self-recrimination descend. He had spent the night trying to polish his flaws away, and it hadn't changed anything.

"I chased him off," said Hakkai. "Or rather, we did, with our conversation yesterday, about who I am. He hasn't been back since."

Hakkai said nothing of the kiss. Surely that was not the reason Gojyo had not returned. It was because he was a monster, he knew.

Sanzo grabbed him and shook him again. Hakkai's monocle clattered onto the counter.

"Find him," said Sanzo. "Use your cards if you have to, but find him _now_."

"I can't," said Hakkai. "He doesn't want me looking for him."

Sanzo looked at him carefully. His eyes were sharp on the bracelet around Hakkai's wrist.

"You're tied to him through that, though it's his debt to repay," said Sanzo. "You're useless to me."

Sanzo stood, abrupt as ever.

"I've got to go find him," he said. "You stay here. I'm not going to lose the both of you. I will be back."

Sanzo rushed out the door, slamming it back so hard the glass rattled in its panes.

Hakkai looked at the four cards before him, and a niggling feeling in the back of his head began to clarify itself.

"Sanzo will not find him until he wants to be found," said Hakkai. "Gojyo has gone into the water again."

Hakkai ran to the front door and opened it, looking for Sanzo, but Sanzo was already gone. What else could he do?

For a second, he thought he might use the bracelet to call Gojyo to him. Hakkai looked at the Magician again and shuddered. Gojyo was in such danger, and he didn't dare distract him, just in case.  Who knew what sort of hooks Ukoku might have into Gojyo? No, it was better to wait, no matter how it wore on his nerves. It was too late to do anything else.

He went to put away the cards, first unwinding the handkerchief. A few dots of blood stained it now. He found it almost fitting.

Out of curiosity, Hakkai flipped over the next card in the deck, wondering what, if anything, might be done to salvage the situation. He was surprised into laughing again. The devil he had been and the devil he still was, apparently.

"It appears I still have a part to play," he said.

Though what that part was, Hakkai didn't dare ask. He was still too afraid to know his future: afraid to have his thoughts either confirmed or denied. He laid his card on top of the others, the red, goat-hooved Devil staring blankly up. He swept the deck together into its handkerchief, and he put the Tarot away.

The scent of incense suddenly swelled in the room, and Hakkai heard the door to the store-room creak open. He looked over. The marionette stood there, one hand on the mahjong case. It turned its head and blinked one, long, artificial blink.

"Cho Gonou."

The marionette clapped its hands together, its childish voice sounding delighted.

"Cho Gonou the murderer," it said. "You are just like us."

Hakkai nodded. He stood, crossed the room, and picked up the marionette and the case. Both were heavier than they appeared, and that fetid incense clung to the both of them. Hakkai felt it curling around him as well. He wondered if he would ever be rid of it, or if he was irreparably tainted now.

"It seems you have gone from one devil to the next," he said. "But I will put you to good use, if I must."

The marionette laughed, and Hakkai heard the echoes of Chin Yisou in its voice.

He did not flinch away. If this was his destiny, so be it.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah! Back in the saddle after a regrettably long absence. I'm ready to finish this sucker! (I sincerely hope this chapter jives with the rest of what I've done so far; I just couldn't make myself re-read the rest of it again. Maybe I will now that I feel some sense of accomplishment.)

In the deep, Ukoku stirred. One of his experimental subjects was returning. It was far off, but Ukoku could feel it, like a beating heart along the ocean floor.  
  
Ukoku crawled down from his resting place, one tentacle at a time along a rocky scarp. He snagged an unwary crab along the way  and ate it live, shell and all. It had been a while since a crab had been so stupid as to cross his path, and he relished the sweet, clean flavor. Ukoku remembered the taste of his subject's flesh as well.  
  
He hurried across rock and sand. He'd see his subject again soon. And then…  
  
  
  
Waking up came slow to Gojyo. He breathed not the slow, cool draft of water but a hot, scorching air that had him coughing as soon as he realized it was his lungs he was using again. He was muddled; he could feel the water on his feet, his legs…  
  
Something pulled at him, something secret and dark moving through him, and it was enough to snap Gojyo into awareness. His foot was in the water. In ocean water. The creature was coming.  
  
Gojyo yanked his foot away, breaking contact, but he knew it was too late. How long had he been laying there, unaware? He had to assume that Ukoku was coming for him, knew exactly where he was. It brought a sharp immediacy to his situation, sunk it deep between his ribs. How could he not be afraid? At times it seemed the best he could hope for was to kill it even as it killed him. The creature was strong and ruthless. But he would do it for his brother.  
  
Gojyo sat up quickly. Sand ground against his skin. He was on a beach. Alone. There were two seagulls fighting over a dead crab just underneath the seaweed-and-barnacle crusted footing of a pier. Gojyo squinted up at it. There was something familiar about it, that hulk of wood that spanned the width of the beach. It came to him then that this was the same pier he'd jumped off. It worried him, deep in the back of his brain, that he didn't know if that had been last night or a year ago.  
  
For that matter, he didn't remember taking off his clothing, but he must have. The sun beat against him, drying him fast and leaving behind salt crystals. He could even feel the sun in his lungs.  
  
Gojyo hoisted himself up one post of the pier and got a glimpse of the surface of it. He let himself drop back down. It looked like it could have been his wine bottle up there, but where were the rest of his things? He tried to puzzle through the question, but his head wasn't cooperating. It wasn't the wine that muddled him, but being so near the sea, wanting to dive back in because he was so thirsty and dry. He forced himself to walk along the little beach, not putting so much as a toe into the water.  
  
Halfway down the beach, Gojyo started to find articles of clothing, half-buried in the sand. His shirt. His pants. Gojyo searched for long, long minutes as he baked in the sun, but he only found one of his boots.  His heart sank. It was the wrong boot: the money he'd borrowed, the money he'd won at gambling and paid for in blood, it was all gone, lost with the other boot.  
  
He ambled back to the pier and sat in the shade while all around him came the smell of cooking seaweed, and he passed a while sorting through the pebbles and shells that had washed up against the posts. Gojyo had wanted to leave this island. Had tried, even, but he'd ended up back where he'd started.  
  
Gojyo stopped pawing through the sand when he found a bit of glass, worn away and frosted by the sand. It was a piercing green when he held it up to the light. He threw it as far from him as he could manage. Gojyo licked his lips, but he only tasted salt and the heat of the sun. Hakkai had kissed him and then run away. Why had he done it? Humans made things so complicated. More and more, Gojyo wished he had never come to this island. Things were clearer—more simple—under the water. You defended your territory and chose a mate who would do the same.  You raised your children to be strong and fearless, and one day they would find their own territories and mates. Even revenge was simple. You found out who or what had wronged you and either killed the source of your misfortune or you yourself died. Kill or be killed.  
  
It had seemed so much easier before Gojyo had ever come to this island of men. Who was this human, to refuse Gojyo the repayment of his debt? Hakkai showed kindness to him, breaking the order of things time after time, forcing Gojyo to deviate again and again from what was right and real, from what Gojyo knew he had to do. And why was he so weak to allow it? Why did Hakkai looking at him as he did feel so out of place? Gojyo knew a kiss meant nothing in the human world, the looks Hakkai gave him even less so.  It was his human side, Gojyo was sure, making confusion and doubt grow inside him with every breath he took of the hot, dry air. That part of him had no place in what he had to do.  
  
  
"Gojyo!"  
  
It took Gojyo a second to pull out of his own dark thoughts and place that far-off voice.  
  
"Goku?" said Gojyo.  
  
He looked around, shading his face with one hand. There, down the beach, was someone running toward him. It was Goku. It didn't take long before Goku was there in front of him. He looked a lot taller from this angle.  
  
"We haven't seen you in three days," said Goku. "Sanzo's really worried."  
  
"I bet he is," said Gojyo. "Gimme a hand up, shrimp."  
  
Gojyo was reminded how strong Goku was, even if he looked like a little kid.  
  
"Don't suppose you found my boots," he said. "I'm missing one, and it's got the money I owe Sanzo."  
   
Goku snorted.  
  
"How dumb d'you think I am?" he said. "Your stuff's one of the first things I found when I went looking for you."  
  
Goku held out a boot. Even from where he was, Gojyo could smell the reek of cheap wine drifting his way. He made a face. What had he done, poured a bottle in and drunk from it? Gojyo remembered the reflection of the water as he sat on a dock, remembered the cool night air on his skin before… He caught himself walking toward the water, and he forced himself away from it, toward Goku.  
  
"Something wrong?" said Goku.  
  
"No," said Gojyo. "C'mon, shrimp. I'll buy you something to eat before we—"  
  
He froze then. Where was he going? To face Sanzo, he supposed. To put off seeing Hakkai. He wasn't in a hurry for that, because, debt aside, what was Hakkai to him? Gojyo couldn't even claim that Hakkai was still patching him up: the time he'd spent underwater had been enough for him to heal completely. Even the scars on his face had gone from raw pink to silvery and faded. Nothing hurt any more…except the thought of facing Hakkai.  
  
"You look kind of pale," said Goku. "Maybe you need to get out of the sun for a while. Have you had anything to eat lately? I know a good place where you can sit and they've got the best food on their menu."  
  
Gojyo did his best to smile. He tipped out the heavy load of coins from his boot and wriggled his foot into the still-damp leather. If Goku didn't run him all over town, he might not get too many blisters from it, but it was better to have blisters than to walk barefoot through the streets of men. He slid the coins into a pocket.  
  
"Sure," said Gojyo. "Lead me to it."  
  
  
Of course, just as they got to the place where Goku wanted to go, Goku saw Sanzo, and Sanzo was headed straight toward them. They met to one side of the tavern's door. For a minute, Gojyo and Sanzo stood there, eyeing one another and waiting for the other to make the first move.  
  
Gojyo gathered the fistful of money in one hand and held it out to Sanzo.  
  
"This is yours," said Gojyo. "We're even now."  
  
Sanzo didn't take the money: instead, he nudged Goku, who retrieved it for him with cupped hands. Sanzo prodded the pile of coins like he was examining something dead. He raised an eyebrow in Gojyo's direction.  
  
"This is more than you owe," said Sanzo. "Even Goku can't eat as much as the extra would pay for."  
  
"I know," said Gojyo. "But like I said, we're even now."  
  
He turned to go—go where, he didn't know, but he wasn't going to stick around this stinking human city any more; following Goku here was the latest in a long line of mistakes, he could see that now—when the distinct click of metal on metal and a whiff of gunpowder stopped him in his tracks. Gojyo felt the barrel of Sanzo's gun dig in between his shoulder blades.  
  
"When were you going to tell me about Ukoku?" said Sanzo.  
  
Gojyo could feel Sanzo shaking; the flintlock he pressed against Gojyo's back tremored. Gojyo laughed.  
  
"That monster?" he said. "That beast? If I were you I'd stay as far away from it as possible."  
  
The gun rammed against his spine, and Sanzo was close enough for Gojyo to smell his sweat and his fear. Gojyo knew how it felt to sweat pure, cold fear like that. Any sane being would feel the same, faced with the creature.  
  
"Where is he?" said Sanzo.  
  
Gojyo waved at the water.  
  
"Out there," he said.  
  
The heavy metal of the flintlock lifted, and Gojyo rubbed the bruise Sanzo had no doubt made. He turned around to face Sanzo.  
  
"On a ship?" said Sanzo. "What's her name?"  
  
"Not on a ship," said Gojyo. "Underwater. At least, it was the last time I encountered it."  
  
Sanzo frowned. Gojyo could tell the priest didn't believe him. It was a hard tale to swallow, but it was the truth.  
  
"Ukoku is a man," said Sanzo. "A priest."  
  
Gojyo wondered what sort of vows the creature had taken, to end up as it had. He studied Sanzo's face. Sanzo didn't look like he was lying. How long had Sanzo been looking, fruitlessly, on the land when what he wanted was in the sea? Gojyo shook his head. It didn't matter. Neither of them was here to make friends.  
  
"If you say so," said Gojyo. "Goodbye."  
  
He didn't get a full three steps away before Sanzo's hard hand caught his shoulder.  
  
"You'll help me find him," said Sanzo. "He and I have debts to settle."  
  
Gojyo snorted. Sanzo would have to wait in line.  
  
"Hey, Sanzo," said Goku. "Gojyo's our friend. Quit treatin' him like he's a bad guy."  
  
Gojyo had never seen Goku look so serious. It was strange.  
  
"Shrimp, I'm nobody's friend," said Gojyo.  
  
"You're my friend," said Goku. "And Hakkai's. I can tell."  
  
Despite the sun, Gojyo felt cold. He didn't want to think about Hakkai. He wanted oblivion, so he wouldn't have to think at all before he did what had to be done. He nudged Sanzo, who glared at him.  
  
"Give me some of that money back," said Gojyo. "You said it was too much."  
  
"No," said Sanzo. "I changed my mind."  
  
"Come on," said Gojyo. "Just enough for a beer."  
  
One beer wouldn't be enough, but it would be a start.  
  
"C'mon, Sanzo," said Goku. "He's probably starving! Let's have some lunch!"  
  
  
Ignoring any argument Sanzo and Gojyo had, Goku dragged them all inside.  
  
  
  
  
Hakkai lived a sleepwalker's dream in the days following Gojyo's sudden absence. Day and night rolled together in a gray fog, punctuated only by the appearances of the marionette and the mahjong set. Hakkai could feel these things laughing at him, could feel the touch of their master's hand even now. He couldn't sleep because of it, and he couldn't eat more than a mouthful before he started to choke.  
  
His shop stayed closed, and he ignored Goku, who pounded on the front door at odd times. Sanzo himself didn't deign to come. Hakkai was almost grateful that their confrontation was being delayed. He couldn't believe for a second that Sanzo was going to let him, one of the most notorious criminals their homeland had ever produced, just live a life of freedom, unpunished and uncorrected.  
  
Hakkai tortured himself during his insomniac nights imagining when Sanzo would come for him, the shackles he would bring for the long journey home, and how Sanzo would throw him before the council. He recreated a hundred times the pronouncement of his guilt and the proclamation of his sentence. He had not allowed himself the luxury of such vanities since his work as court astronomer, when he had imagined a better, happier life for himself and for Kanan.  
  
There was no sign of Gojyo, here or elsewhere, but that was only to be expected. No doubt he'd run as fast and as far as he could. The pit of Hakkai's stomach went cold every time he thought of the dangers the cards had shown. If Gojyo went back into the water…  
  
When Hakkai was half-awake, almost lucid, sometimes he fancied he was drowning. He could feel the dark water curling into his nostrils, trickling down his throat. No amount of coughing made the feeling go away. And yet, every time Hakkai thought to give in, to let himself drown while breathing the air, a sudden warmth would come upon him, and the red hairs twined about his wrist seemed to glow. The water ebbed. He could breathe freely again for a time as he stroked the bracelet and remembered the feeling of Gojyo's lips against his.  
  
If only that kiss hadn't been the last of Gojyo. Hakkai could taste regret like bitter salt on his tongue. He had so many regrets, had done so much wrong in such a short time. If only they'd had more time, Hakkai was sure he could have made things come right. He could have convinced Gojyo to stay, to leave behind the revenge that was sure to kill him. He could have laid the memory of Kanan to rest, could have stacked the warm comfort of Gojyo against the cold space in his chest that had been there ever since he'd vowed to destroy Yisou. Hakkai laughed. As if he were any better than Gojyo, as if he could tell him anything about revenge without being hypocritical.  
  
Hakkai came out of himself for a moment when he thought the door of the shop was opening, despite its being locked. He could have sworn he'd heard the glass panes rattle. But, when he looked over at it, there was no one there. His heart sank. No one but…  
  
"Cho Gonou," said the marionette.  
  
It clattered across the floor of the shop and stood at his feet.  
  
"Take my hand, Cho Gonou," it said.  
  
Hakkai reached out to it, and its strings cut into his fingers. When a few drops of blood dripped onto its face, the marionette laughed.  
  
"We are the same," he said. "Your master would have laughed as well."  
  
The marionette's head turned all the way around.  
  
"You are the master," it said.  "You and no other."  
  
Hakkai paid no mind to the strings that crawled up him and settled around his neck, nor to the heaviness in his lungs that felt like water. Hakkai knew the marionette was paint and wood and spite. Its eyes seemed to grow larger and larger the longer he stared at it, taking on more life than mere paint should allow.  Those varnished eyes were somehow alive where there was, patently, no life, and Hakkai felt a twisted kinship with it, for all that he hated it and hated its long-dead creator.  
  
A huge crash came from somewhere, and Hakkai felt sharp little somethings scoring his cheek. He reached up a hand, and tried to wipe the sharpness away, but it only dug further, stabbed with no regard for his fingertips and flesh. He pried one piece out and stared at it, not understanding. Glass? Hakkai looked first at the display counters, and then to the shop windows. One of them was broken. He traced a trail of broken glass from the window to a rock that lay in the middle of the shop's floor. The shards glittered like frost.  
  
He looked at the marionette, and the marionette looked silently back. An attempted robbery, perhaps?  
  
"Who could be so foolish?" Hakkai said.  
  
He and the marionette rose as one and approached the shattered window. Hakkai couldn't seem to focus properly; he coughed and the little lights that had picked out the sharp edges of the glass took flight, dancing around the room. The room wavered at the edges, and the sight of tanned skin and red hair forcing its way in through the hole in the glass didn't make sense.  
  
"Hakkai!"  
  
The voice was familiar. He'd been waiting for that voice: perhaps that was why his stomach lurched so. Anticipation? For the first time in days, he felt warmed all the way through. And then a thought, too slow, too slow by far.  
  
"Gojyo?" said Hakkai.  
  
And a second thought: he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. Hakkai clawed at his throat, slipping on blood and wire as Yisou's imaginary laughter swallowed all other sounds.  
  
Hakkai fell into a deep, dark stillness, and the laughter chased him all the way to the bottom.


End file.
